ã€ŠSokaisevaã€‹


 {Book 1 - Sokaiseva} 1 - Time Travelers Gambit

    {July 13}

    I liked being a mercenary¡ªdon¡¯t think that I didn¡¯t. All my life, I¡¯d been struggling to find a place where I made sense and I really, honestly believed that that was it.

    If it were up to me, I¡¯d still be a mercenary. The work suited me. In a lot of ways, I think it¡¯s all I¡¯m truly capable of doing. I suppose I could be a garbage woman, if those exist, or a drawbridge operator. Something that wouldn¡¯t require me to talk to people very often. Maybe if I knew how to code, I could be a programmer, but I don¡¯t think I would handle the frustration all that well. I had some skills, but nothing that lined up into anything marketable. I was good with a task and I could be trusted with the execution. Beyond that was beyond me.

    I was a slow-motion human cascade¡ªI was falling apart, a train-wreck at quarter-speed, stumbling through the days and shoving through the faceless crowds, and all I could do was watch through the one-side mirror and pray for anyone that got in my way.

    When I was a stone of eleven, it wouldn¡¯t have mattered. I would disappear and the world would be none the wiser.

    When I was twelve, it was a little different.

    *             *             *

    Cygnus held a piece of copper pipe about a foot and a half long. As I watched, it stretched and thinned into something refined and gently curved¡ªa two-and-a-half-foot rapier with an edge that vanished into the air.

    He hefted it a bit, checking the weight.

    Should be a good enough replacement,¡± he said.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said, instinctively. It was my fault that he¡¯d lost his old one¡ªit was probably washed up somewhere in the fields behind the mansion by now. I¡¯d flushed the place out as best I could, and that ¡°best¡± was pretty good, if I¡¯m allowed to say so. Anything not bolted down was either shattered or washed away.

    ¡°Nah, don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he replied, turning slightly away from me and giving the pipe-sword a few test swings with one hand. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, all of my weapons are trash. I¡¯m not gonna throw a fit over it.¡±

    I let it go. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was make an enemy in my first month here.

    ¡°Great work out there, by the way,¡± he said, putting the blade flat-side down over his shoulder.

    The sword was just barely short of poking him when he walked. That didn¡¯t stop me from worrying about it, though, and every time I felt the concern bubble up, I forced it back down. I didn¡¯t know how sharp a reasonably powerful metallurgic could make a piece of copper pipe, and I didn¡¯t want to find out.

    I had neither the time nor brainpower to worry about that now.

    He went on: ¡°You¡¯re gonna have a reputation in no time.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure if I wanted one. My previous experience with a reputation was hardly something I wanted to repeat.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said.

    Cygnus glanced around him¡ªlooking over the holes in the drywall, the mangled pipes and exposed wires in the wreckage of the walls, the puddles of water and drenched fabrics, the cracked skulls and cloudy-red pools of blood on the tables. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any survivors,¡± he said.

    ¡°I left one.¡±

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°You rascal.¡±

    I took that as an invitation to continue. ¡°He¡¯s upstairs. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s still conscious or not.¡±

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s go find out, shall we?¡± Cygnus said, starting toward the staircase behind us.

    We came to this mansion with a relatively simple order¡ªthis group was irredeemable; there was not a soul worth saving among them. You don¡¯t need to know their names. Do whatever you want; but ensure they don¡¯t get up to any hijinks again.

    That was ¡°mission accomplished¡± as far as I was concerned.

    Cygnus stepped into the darkness of the stairwell ahead of me¡ªas he went up to the crack of light formed by the ajar door at the top, he faded away; the glint of his new sword and the flash of his smile were all that separated him from the wavering darkness.

    And, for half a second, I was alone again, in the ruins of a place I destroyed, with only a smile and a weapon to guide me. The reasons why slipped backward, out of my fingers. They didn¡¯t matter as much as the result. I did this, and rust-red water was as much who I was as any other part of me.

    What did people say to captives? I hadn¡¯t needed to interrogate anyone yet. Yoru and Ava usually took the hostages when the situation called for it. They always swore by the information they could give¡ªbut they were far more skilled in the art of persuasion than I was. I wasn¡¯t hired to speak softly¡ªjust to carry the big stick.

    What do you say to someone whose legs are both shattered and frozen to the floor in a mound of ice that covered them to the stomach? What are they supposed to say to you when they know their words don¡¯t matter at all?

    There was never any chance that guy I left upstairs wasn¡¯t going to die. I just split the act into two parts. Whether I killed him, or Cygnus stabbed him, or he bled out and froze, it didn¡¯t matter. The conclusion was forgone. Everything else was just semantics.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    I was willing to bet the last survivor wasn¡¯t even conscious anymore. There¡¯s an upper limit to how long someone can stay awake when the entire lower half of their body is iced. Five minutes was probably pushing it¡ªbut if there¡¯s one thing water-keys are bad at, it¡¯s incapacitating people in non-lethal ways.

    Cygnus prodded the door with the hilt of his pipe-sword and it swung open uninhibited, which was a bit of a surprise to me given the carnage downstairs.

    In that room were a few games¡ªsome arcade cabinets in the back and a blue-felt pool table in the center. Some black leather couches sat curled around a coffee table near the stairwell we emerged from. Small items were a bit unnaturally shifted from the racket we¡¯d made, but outside of that most of the room was in order, except for the man I¡¯d frozen to one of the legs of the pool table.

    In his hands he clutched a cue he could just barely reach from where he was¡ªhe held it like a lance, white-knuckled, eyes wide and breathing heavy, but he was slowly turning blue from the cold and I knew he could swing that cue about as hard as a squirrel could.

    Cygnus said nothing; he walked up to the man with soft, careful steps, just barely staying out of cue-striking range, and in a flash his hand leapt out and he snagged the end of it and tugged¡ªand the cue slipped out of the frozen man¡¯s limp hand. Cygnus took a step back away from him and held the cue out to me. I took it, standing it up next to me like a legionnaire of old.

    It was only a couple of inches shorter than I was.

    ¡°So,¡± Cygnus said, drawing his sword and pointing the tip of it at the man¡¯s chin. ¡°You¡¯re the lucky winner. Congrats.¡±

    The frozen man said nothing. His mouth quivered a bit. I couldn¡¯t tell if he was about to cry or if he was simply losing control of his facial muscles.

    ¡°I doubt you¡¯ve got much left in there, so I¡¯ll keep this short,¡± Cygnus continued. ¡°We represent Jan Prochazka of the Radiant. It¡¯s not that it matters all that much, because frankly, I don¡¯t care, and we¡¯ve got a pretty good idea of where he is anyway, but if you¡¯d like to tell us who you guys work for, I¡¯m sure that¡¯s redeemable for a few credits in Heaven.¡±

    ¡°Children,¡± the man gasped. That was all he could squeeze between blue lips.

    He was staring at me.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Cygnus said, nudging the soft part under the man¡¯s chin with the pipe-sword¡¯s tip. ¡°Eyes up here.¡±

    ¡°Who¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Cygnus,¡± Cygnus said. He gestured vaguely at me with his free hand. ¡°This is Erika. If you¡¯re not going to tell us who you work for, let me know so I can put you out of your misery, because¡ªI¡¯m gonna be real, man¡ªthat doesn¡¯t look comfortable.¡±

    The ice on the man¡¯s left side was a bit cracked¡ªhe¡¯d been trying to use the pool cue to chip himself out, but it didn¡¯t seem like he¡¯d gotten very far. It didn¡¯t look like he had a key, either, so we had little to fear on that front, too.

    I suppose that was the price of doing business with those who have keys¡ªthere¡¯s always a slim chance, every day, that you get bowled over by powers you can neither fathom nor understand.

    Oh well. As they say¡ªthat¡¯s showbiz, baby.

    ¡°Jim,¡± the man wheezed. ¡°51 High Street. In town.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t able to stifle the little giggle before it came out. I don¡¯t think people expect traffickers to have basic, white-bread names like Jim or Bob, but it stands to reason that any given name could be anywhere. The evildoers of the world don¡¯t necessarily need to have evil-sounding names.

    In that second I saw this mythical figure, sitting on a throne of cracked skulls under a bleeding sky, in a castle guarded by the souls of the damned¡ªand our intrepid heroes, a certain Cygnus and a certain Erika Hanover, who fought tooth and nail just to catch a glimpse of the dark lord¡¯s eye, arrive. We have crossed the universe to get here, through trials of every element, through tests of faith that would make even the most pious bishop turn to sin. We have seen every aspect of humanity play out in our journey three times over, and we have judged it all worth saving¡ªwe have judged it all worth our lives in sacrifice. We are broken, we are ripped open and spilling out like chew-toys, but we still have the strength to raise our swords one last time, to smite the source of all wretchedness from this earth, because without this cause, we have nothing¡ªwithout this cause there is nothing¡ªand without this one person who is the source of all suffering, the world is whole. We ask him, with chipped words because we are spent and hurting, for his true name, so that we may lay curses upon him in the ancient tongue. We ask him this because we know his hubris will make him tell us, because he¡¯s certain he will win, because the forces of good haven¡¯t been able to stop him yet, and he doesn¡¯t know how they could possibly stop him now. We ask this evil from before the first words were spoken for his name, and he says his name is Bob Jones.

    Cygnus ignored me, but he did smile. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯m sure that¡¯s good for something up there.¡± Then he looked at me and said, ¡°Erika, take his head off. He keeps staring at you. Obviously, he wants you to do it.¡±

    The mention of my name put me back in my own shoes. Nothing we did would ever be that grand, and honestly, I liked it that way. This was so much easier. I could only imagine that if the world had to unite against an evil that obvious and threatening, they would nominate people more qualified than us to fight it.

    What did we know about any of that?

    ¡°Children,¡± the man gasped, again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see your point,¡± Cygnus said. He gestured at me and I set to work.

    A piece of ice broke itself off from the ground near the man¡¯s twisted legs and leapt into my hand where it instantly liquified, the ball of water hanging in the air around my hand. I reformed it into a tight disc and took aim¡ªand in one fluid motion I slung it into the man¡¯s neck. It sliced right through him like a knife through a carrot, embedding itself in the wood of the pool table leg behind him.

    He coughed blood, once¡ªthe red against the trapped white refracted light in the ice¡ªand that was it for him.

    ¡°You know, you should really work on some one-liners,¡± Cygnus said, admiring my handiwork. ¡°They¡¯re really good for stuff like this.¡±

    I walked over to the body and lay the cue down next to his knees. Maybe, somewhere out there, there was a cop dumb enough to rule this a suicide.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I could pull it off,¡± I said.

    ¡°You¡¯ll never know until you try, right?¡± he replied.

    Cygnus pulled out his phone and sent a text to the cleanup line. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    I nodded, and we headed for the steps. As we walked, I mumbled to myself, somewhat involuntarily¡ª¡°Children.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all anyone cares about, isn¡¯t it?¡± Cygnus said. ¡°And all they do is stare at you. I¡¯m not sure if I should be proud of you or annoyed that people seem to just assume this is something I¡¯d do.¡±

    He clapped me on the shoulder¡ªI snapped to attention, startled out of my skin.

    ¡°You¡¯re the star of the show, Erika,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s just the Erika show, every day, all the time.¡±

    There was a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs. It was bigger than it was when we went up.

    0             0             0

    I think about that day a lot. Not that it was particularly important in the grand scheme of things, but because it was simple. I had a thing to do, and I did it. That was it. But if I could go back, I don¡¯t know if I would. I know better now, I think, and I¡¯m not sure I could stand in the shoes of twelve-year-old Erika Hanover and move my hands with hers. By the time I became old enough to wish I could go back to those days, it was too late to ever bring them back, even by imitation, and I was too different to fit back into the skin of the person I was.

    Even if I had a time machine, it wouldn¡¯t matter. It could never be the same again.

    If there¡¯s one thing I learned in my days at the Radiant, it¡¯s that the act of yearning ruins the illusion.

 2 - Cheap Talk

    {July 14}

    I was doing my best to fit in, and Jan Prochazka knew that. He saved his one-on-one with me for the morning after the mission, and on top of that he was kind enough to give me a few hours to recover, too.

    I was only mildly hungover when I came into his office.

    He invited me to sit down, so I did, stepping carefully as to not give him the impression that I thought the room was spinning.

    ¡°How was yesterday?¡± Prochazka asked me.

    Jan was a tall black man with a soft voice and a strong Czech accent, which threw a lot of people unfamiliar with him for a loop. He was the sort of person who was twenty-seven in the shadow of their hundredth birthday. Lots of older key holders were like that¡ªthey might not have aged much physically, but they were most definitely still aging. Even though I didn¡¯t know much about him at the time, I remember thinking that there couldn¡¯t have been a job in the world Prochazka hadn¡¯t done by the time he came to lead the Radiant. I had yet to ask him a question he lacked an immediate answer for, and in our short time together I had asked him a lot of questions.

    I had known him for a month, and I trusted him with my life.

    ¡°It was fine,¡± I said. ¡°We got everyone, I think.¡±

    ¡°You double-checked?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    I¡¯m sure Prochazka disapproved strongly of my night-time habits. He was a staunchly sober man; I¡¯m not sure he¡¯d had a drink in seventy years. I was told by Yoru and Ava that he took one taste of the swill that passed for vodka in the United States when he came here after the war, and he quit drinking on the spot. I wasn¡¯t about to doubt the authenticity of that story¡ªit certainly sounded like something Prochazka would do¡ªbut telling tall tales about the man was a favorite past-time of Unit 6, so there was a good chance it was nothing.

    Prochazka¡¯s sobriety was well-known, though. And facts were secondary to the explanations.

    I knew he didn¡¯t like me drinking, either, but he swallowed his distaste for it upon the realization that me being a sober pariah in Unit 6 was probably more damaging than me having a beer or two at night. I wanted to fit in. That required certain things. I was willing to swallow those requirements and therefore he was too.

    It was okay. He came from a culture that was laxer about those things. The booze itself was never the concern¡ªit was always about the habit with him. It was one of his core tenets that he expected us all to just absorb via osmosis at some point.

    I¡¯m sure that Prochazka never had an issue with me having a beer or two on special nights; but I¡¯m sure he always kept the idea of an excess in the back of his mind.

    Prochazka had been having these conversations with me in the mid-mornings after missions for a while now, and he always seemed to just want to chat. I¡¯d never seen him do that with anyone else, although I suppose there¡¯s no way I would have if those chats were always in his office, behind a closed door.

    I don¡¯t blame him for not knowing what to say. It¡¯s hard to blame anyone for that, really.

    ¡°You said their leader was at 51 High Street. Right in town,¡± Prochazka said. His voice was too neutral for me to get any information on how he was feeling from it.

    Prochazka looked me dead in the eyes, surely trying to determine how hungover I was. He had to already know. I walked into that room under the assumption that Prochazka could absorb our voices from the walls. Nothing happened under his roof that he didn¡¯t know about¡ªthat was what Yoru told me, and I believed him. I didn¡¯t have a reason not to. It meshed with what I¡¯d seen and therefore, automatically, it became true.

    The attention made me squirm.

    I nodded. The answer was ¡°somewhat¡±¡ªnot enough to be non-verbal, but enough to be minimally so, because my own voice would echo through my head if I spoke too loudly or for too long.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯d like to wrap this up as soon as possible. We don¡¯t know how many people they¡¯re holding in there¡ªunless you asked the hostage?¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°I didn¡¯t think to.¡±

    ¡°Cygnus didn¡¯t?¡±

    Shook my head again.

    Prochazka frowned. ¡°Of course not.¡±

    He shifted a little and continued. ¡°It¡¯s not really your role to remember that kind of nuance. Not yet, anyway.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m muscle,¡± I said. That was my formal job description¡ªmuscle, bruiser, enforcer, whatever.

    He nodded. ¡°As of now, yes. Later, maybe more. But we¡¯ve got to get you there first.¡±

    I had not yet been on any solo missions because of that. I was Prochazka¡¯s personal project¡ªthat much I knew, but there was something he wanted to make out of me that I was not quite aware of. Something more than a bruiser, I figured, but we had to start somewhere, and there was no place for dead weight at the Radiant.

    He usually put me with Cygnus, as we were the two youngest people in Unit 6¡ªin the Radiant as a whole, actually¡ªand Cygnus was reasonably experienced despite being in the unit for only a few months longer than me.

    We were usually only put on missions where we were supposed to shoot first and ask questions later, and where there was no limit on destruction. When there was more finesse required, I was usually third wheel to Yoru and Ava, who were the most senior non-managing members of Unit 6. On those, I was usually only supposed to speak when spoken to and keep myself out of sight for as long as possible. On those missions, I was the threat. I was the fury of the Radiant that Yoru and Ava would claim to have leashed, temporarily, lest their demands go unheeded and they slack that chain for just a moment.

    I hadn¡¯t been on a mission with Benji or Bell yet, but I figured that was in the pipeline.

    A few seconds too long of silence went by. ¡°You¡¯re dismissed,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°You should be free for the rest of the day.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to High Street?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t decided who I¡¯m sending yet,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m still waiting on some intelligence from Unit 2. I might send you with Yoru and Ava if we think they have anything salvageable; if not, I¡¯ll put Cygnus on it.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    I didn¡¯t go anywhere. There were aches in parts of me I didn¡¯t know had nerve endings. Prochazka raised an eyebrow and repeated, ¡°Dismissed, Erika. And drink some more water. It¡¯ll help.¡±

    I blinked, stood up, and hurried out of the room.

    0 0 0

    ¡°He might never do it,¡± Cygnus said to me. ¡°You¡¯ve gotta be prepared for that.¡±

    We sat in the cafeteria of the old factory the Radiant had moved into. Benji and Prochazka both liked to call it the ¡°mess hall,¡± but they were both long-time veterans, and nobody else referred to it that way.

    I was over my headache by that time, partially thanks to Prochazka¡¯s advice. I was feeling pretty good about myself over a job well done, so I was okay with being in public for a while. The sidelong, questioning glances from non-Unit 6 people weren¡¯t going to bother me that much.

    One of the units was in charge of maintaining the facilities and whatnot¡ªI couldn¡¯t remember which one¡ªand they¡¯d done some renovations in there to update the place; banishing the mold with whatever arcane ritual you have to do to keep it from just coming back again, replacing the old cracked linoleum with fresher, intact linoleum¡ªthings like that. They had a shoestring budget for everything they did, but it was all good enough work.

    I don¡¯t think many of them had keys, if any. Good, hard, honest workers, unlike us.

    The cafeteria was essentially just a school lunchroom¡ªa wide counter along the back wall and a couple rows of circle-seat tables. Like a school, most of the units kept to themselves, with some amount of intermingling¡ªexcept for Unit 6, which was almost completely insulated. Our only spigot for information from the outside world was Ava, and occasionally Yoru.

    Even among Unit 6 there was separation. Yoru and Ava sat at one end of the long table, talking between themselves. At the other end was Cygnus, Bell, and I.

    Benji took his meals in his office.

    Bell¡¯s name was short for something, but she wouldn¡¯t tell us what. She was a quiet, wiry sort of woman, and I could not for the life of me figure out what she did for Unit 6, and I was too nervous to ask.

    She was extremely tall. Had to be a bit over six feet.

    I was told she had a key, but I didn¡¯t know what it was, even after two weeks and a handful of words. I felt that simply asking about it was some kind of taboo that I wasn¡¯t willing to violate, like asking about a salary or something, so her nature remained a mystery.

    I hadn¡¯t yet shaken the feeling that she held quiet disdain for me. I always made an effort to be polite and civil with her, lest anyone decide they didn¡¯t like me¡ªbut every time I was near her, she¡¯d look at me with a slightly downturned mouth and she¡¯d move with quick, precise shifts to minimize the amount of time we were in eyeshot of each other. It was all I could do to not be a stranger to someone so strange, and yet she was always so curt, and I had no idea what I possibly could have done to offend her aside from simply existing.

    It was beyond me. I couldn¡¯t figure it out.

    The cafeteria reminded me a lot of the one at my old middle school; not that I spent all that much time in there. It looked about the same and it was divided in a similar way. If I zoned out for too long, I could almost imagine myself there again¡ªalone and powerless with no understanding and no way out. At the bottom of an endless hole.

    I blinked.

    ¡°I mean, look at me,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I¡¯ve been here for months and all he does is throw me at random idiots.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re fifteen,¡± Bell said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect much.¡±

    Cygnus had that pipe-sword he¡¯d made in our last mission in a homemade sheath slung over his back. He did that because he said it looked cool.

    I mean, he was right, but still.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a bruiser forever,¡± I said, mostly to the table.

    ¡°You¡¯re good at it,¡± Bell said. ¡°Unit 6 works best when there¡¯s two bruisers, three schemers, and a flex slot.¡±

    Which, I supposed, made Bell the flex slot¡ªwhich still gave me zero indication as to what she actually did.

    ¡°What do you do around here?¡± I asked her. The question skipped right over my filter, and I turned bright red as soon as I said it. Immediately I wanted to take it back, but it was just words, and now they were floating through the air like dust and it was too late.

    Bell blinked. ¡°Whatever needs to be done.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a torturer,¡± Cygnus said.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just trust me on this one,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°Be in a room with her for fifteen minutes alone and you tell me if you feel tortured or not.¡±

    Bell shot him a side-eye look but didn¡¯t say anything else.

    ¡°See? No defense,¡± Cygnus said.

    He went to lean back, realized he was in a circle chair with no back, and regained his balance just slowly enough for Bell and I to notice.

    Bell didn¡¯t have lunch, or maybe she¡¯d already eaten lunch, or maybe she was a ghost and consumed souls and other ephemera for sustenance. Each of those options was equally likely as far as I was concerned. She already didn¡¯t look much like a real person¡ªtoo tall, too gaunt, too stretched over hollow bones. I would¡¯ve believed basically any explanation for the way she was.

    In the corner of my vision I could see people from other units shooting looks in our¡ªmy¡ªdirection. Two weeks and I was still a strange newcomer, some weird little girl who was apparently a high-end bruiser.

    It was only recently that I¡¯d learned that Benji was taking lunch in his office to avoid those looks.

    One part of me didn¡¯t care¡ªI had a key, so I was invincible¡ªso it didn¡¯t matter what they thought. I could not be destroyed. I could not be stopped¡ªand if push came to shove and I had to make them put up, well, I was fairly confident that none of them would be able to. I could drown the world and they could do nothing.

    But on the other, I came here to escape the school cafeteria, and now I was in a cafeteria again.

    Cygnus said, ¡°You good?¡±

    I realized it had been a few moments since I¡¯d spoken, and some aspect of my face must¡¯ve sunken below the acceptable emotional range.

    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± I said.

    ¡°They¡¯ll get used to you,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°They got used to me.¡±

    Bell nodded, quietly, in agreement.

    He continued: ¡°I¡¯m fifteen, and for a while I was the youngest person here, and it was weird in the same way. But I guess I don¡¯t have the same experience you¡¯ve got, so¡­¡±

    I¡¯d heard that sort of language before. I knew well enough what it hid¡ªbut that was just talk, and I was in a place with people like me now. I didn¡¯t have to put so much stock into what was said. I didn¡¯t have to peel apart every word for the little nut of sentiment in there. These people knew what I was, and to them it was okay, and therefore it was okay to me, too.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I said again. ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡±

    The table was a very good listener.

    ¡°Good bruisers are hard to come by,¡± Bell said. ¡°It took us¡­what, five months to fill your position? Something like that.¡±

    Cygnus nodded. He pushed his plate to the side and put his elbows up on the table, bracing his chin in his hands and looking at me. ¡°Look, Erika,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s only one way I know how to beat this kind of thing.¡±

    I waited for his answer. I did my best to look him in the eyes.

    And in Cygnus¡¯s eyes there was a glimmer. ¡°Complete, uncompromising, overwhelming force.¡±

    I looked at Bell, and in her eyes, there was a dull glass-dead nothing.

    She nodded.

    0 0 0

    At night, Cygnus liked to watch these animated shows that had a bunch of people around our age piloting huge robots. I originally just watched them because they were colorful and it was something to do, but after a while I started following them along with him. They weren¡¯t in English¡ªCygnus claimed to be able to understand some of it without reading the subtitles, but I didn¡¯t believe him.

    That was one of the things we did on nights when we were all around and there wasn¡¯t a celebration of some sort. Periodically Bell or Yoru would sit in on an episode or two, but only Cygnus and I watched all of them. We only had one TV in the common room everyone in Unit 6 shared, and Cygnus regularly commandeered it to hook his ¡°work-issued¡± laptop up to it and stream the episodes. I don¡¯t know where he found them, but he always assured me it was legal.

    At first, I watched them because I wanted something I could share with someone else in Unit 6; I wanted to be a part of something. But once I started, I didn¡¯t want to stop.

    I was expecting to find a character to relate to, but instead I realized that I wasn¡¯t any of the pilots¡ªI was one of the giant robots.

    0 0 0

    Through the week after I often wondered if Cygnus was telling a joke or not about Bell¡ªif she really was a torturer. Everyone once in a while I¡¯d pause and consider both sides of the situation, but I realized that I had next to no information on it outside of Cygnus¡¯s word, so sitting around and ¡°thinking¡± about it wasn¡¯t going to do me any good. There just wasn¡¯t anything to process.

    So when she would silently get up in the middle of the night, take her long dark coat off the hook by the door, slide into her shoes¡ªsometimes sneakers, sometimes heels¡ªand slip out the door, I would think about where she was going, what she was doing. And each time I happened to be awake for it¡ªwhich was three times, since I still found it tough to sleep through the night in that room¡ªI would wonder if that was going to be the time I¡¯d work up the courage to sit up in my bed and ask her, point-blank: who are you? Where are you going?

    But I never did. The mystery remained.

    I had only myself to blame for my sloth.

 3 - Street War, No Survivors (1)

    {July 21}

    ¡°We¡¯re dropping the hammer today,¡± Prochazka said.

    I sat in his office with Yoru and Ava¡ªthe two of them directly in front of his desk, and myself off to the side. I wasn¡¯t originally going to have a chair, but it turned out that he kept a folding chair under his desk for this exact purpose.

    So there was Yoru and Ava in comfortable office chairs and myself in a little black metal folding one, with paint that peeled to reveal rust in a few places. A well-loved char, as it were.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Yoru said.

    Today, Yoru and Ava had matching leather jackets, complete with useless zippers. I think they tried to coordinate their wardrobes often; essentially, they were one mind, and from the stories I heard they tried to make themselves of one body on every available occasion.

    That¡¯s what Cygnus told me, anyway, but I wasn¡¯t sure what that meant at the time.

    Yoru was an air-key and Ava was a nature-key. Air-keys always struck me as kind of useless; but he insisted it was good for all kinds of things. I¡¯d asked him if he could fly a few days before and he said no, so that summed up my feelings on the matter.

    And I¡¯d never seen a nature key in action before, since my only exposure to the two of them as a team were when they were the negotiators, and I was the big stick they were supposed to speak softly and carry. Not that Yoru or Ava did a whole lot of speaking softly in the first place, but that was the sentiment, I supposed.

    Prochazka was an air-key, too, although he didn¡¯t wear his on the usual necklace like the rest of us. From Yoru¡¯s, I knew that the physical air keys itself was the usual little silver key-charm on a chain, but with a single small pearl where the hole should be. Both he and Ava wore theirs all the time, so I knew that nature-keys had an emerald in the hole. Water-keys had a sapphire.

    The keys were just fun little trinkets we could hold to remind ourselves that we weren¡¯t ever going to be properly human again. The physical objects themselves, near as I could tell, didn¡¯t serve any actual purpose aside from being pretty.

    That aside¡ª

    Ava was much taller than Yoru. If I had to guess I¡¯d say he was barely five-five; Ava was pushing five-ten. They made an odd-looking couple. I¡¯d heard that Yoru was a bit sore that I was here, because my presence was a constant reminder that he was only handful of inches taller than a twelve-year-old girl, and¡ªsurprise¡ªhe didn¡¯t like that very much.

    ¡°We received some intelligence that makes this matter a bit cleaner, actually,¡± Prochazka folding his hands together. For once, he sounded somewhat upbeat. ¡°It turns out that they¡¯re holding the hostages in the basement right in that building.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± Ava said. ¡°That¡¯s¡­kind of dumb of them.¡±

    ¡°These people don¡¯t strike me as high caliber,¡± Prochazka said with a halfhearted shrug.

    ¡°Fair.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re just going in there and¡­well, not just doing a slaughter, obviously, because then you¡¯d just send the kids, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Prochazka said, interjecting. His voice was sober again. ¡°We don¡¯t know how they¡¯re holding the hostages. Could be a number of things. We know this organization knows about magic in some regard, but we don¡¯t know if they¡¯re employing anyone. So the guards could be magic or they could be not. Alternatively, there could be a telepath that¡¯s just keeping the hostages in place via mind-locks, but that¡¯s sort of unlikely, unless their telepath is extremely powerful.¡±

    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve still never actually seen anyone do that,¡± Yoru said. ¡°I think it¡¯s just something you think would be a good idea, and you keep hoping someone¡¯ll be doing it so you get proven right.¡±

    Ava started to giggle but sucked it back down as soon as she saw Prochazka¡¯s face.

    ¡°I have seen it,¡± he said. ¡°Just not in a really long time.¡±

    ¡°Not since ¡®Nam,¡± Yoru said, grinning.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Prochazka replied. ¡°It¡¯s not something you need when you¡¯ve got the time and space to build proper jails.¡±

    Yoru¡¯s smile slowly faded. ¡°Oh, right.¡±

    ¡°You fought in Vietnam?¡± I asked.

    Prochazka nodded. He made a little wistful smile but didn¡¯t elaborate on it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let him launch into this bullshit,¡± Ava said to me. ¡°It¡¯s not worth it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you can ask around in Hanoi and find some people who remember me very fondly,¡± Prochazka replied.

    I blinked. ¡°Is that¡­um, ironically, or¡­¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later,¡± Ava said. ¡°So, what exactly are we doing?¡±

    Prochazka leaned in. ¡°You¡¯re going into 51 High Street. I want you to knock on the door. Demand to be taken to guy in charge and have Erika shoot each person who tells you no. Once you get up there, negotiate for the release of the prisoners, and then¡­well, the rest is personal discretion. The contract doesn¡¯t specify any particular punishment or post-op action for these people, so do whatever strikes your fancy. How¡¯s that?¡±

    Yoru and Ava glanced at each other and nodded.

    I sat behind them and nodded too, on a two-second delay.

    0 0 0

    High Street was a back-alley better suited to an extended dumpster than anything else. It was the sort of place you needed three reasons to be anywhere near. The only things there were the seediest dive bars in town and crushed, sloped sorts of dilapidated apartments with boards over half the windows that likely rented for a dollar a month.

    51 High Street was one of those buildings, from what I could gather from the slowly increasing numbers and the road ahead of us. Every time we passed another storefront¡ªopen or closed¡ªI¡¯d scan for a number and mutter it under my breath without really meaning to.

    After twenty-three, Ava told me to stop, so I did.

    At least the sky was beautiful and blue, so you could almost imagine all was right with the world.

    From where we were you couldn¡¯t see the huge old factory we called home¡ªit was buried behind the row of decay we walked alongside, somewhere behind it off to our right. To our left was a park that was more dirt than grass, with some old playground equipment in the distance and a baseball diamond that probably had bases marked on it at some point. Behind that was a basketball court that about a dozen people were using. Both Yoru and Ava were walking and talking, staring more at the game than where they were going.

    I could imagine that all three of us were thinking of places we¡¯d rather be.

    ¡°Oh, I said I¡¯d explain that, didn¡¯t I?¡± Ava said, as part of a conversation with Yoru I wasn¡¯t a part of.

    He scratched his head. ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Guess I¡¯ll do that now, then. Hey, Erika,¡± she said.

    I looked up at her.

    ¡°Remember what Prochazka said about ¡®Nam?¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°You know he fought for them, right?¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Yoru interjected.

    ¡°Huh,¡± I replied.

    I looked out again at the storefronts; counted thirty-seven, thirty-nine.

    0 0 0

    Ava wanted a soda, so we popped into a tiny bodega at 41 High Street.

    The place was a microscopic hole in the wall featuring two floor racks packed with all kinds of salty and sugary snacks, some booze in fridges the back, and other random items. Everything not for sale appeared to be covered in a fine layer of dirt, but I figured that was due to the age of the place and not neglect.

    Ava went right to one of the fridges along the wall next to the counter¡ªthe cashier eyeing her briefly as she went.

    Behind the counter was an array of cigarettes and lottery tickets, the latter of which caught Yoru¡¯s attention as he waited for Ava to go pick her soda. The man in the denim jacket behind the counter sat on a round stool, quietly waiting for Yoru to pick one, if he so chose.

    Sitting on the counter was an adorable little stuffed frog with yellow feet. It was maybe nine inches long front foot to back foot¡ªif I had to guess¡ªwith rings of green over black-bead eyes. It was tagless, but a little folded card next to it said that it was for sale; five dollars.

    I went to pick up the frog¡ªglancing over at the man behind the counter, who nodded in approval¡ªand once I was holding it I found it was filled with tiny plastic beads. I bounced it up and down a few times, letting the arms and legs flap from the motion. Rolling some of the beads between my fingers through the frog¡¯s velvet skin.

    Then I put it back down, reached into my pocket, and realized I forgot my money at the base.

    Yoru was still scanning the lottery tickets, but then he looked over at Ava¡ªwho was removing bottles of soda of different brands one by one and hefting them like she was testing their weight¡ªand he muttered to himself, ¡°I should be responsible,¡± and stopped.

    Ava came over with the soda she decided was the heaviest, I guess, and also glanced down at the stuffed frog. ¡°Cute,¡± she muttered, reaching into her pocket for some cash.

    But she only bought the soda, and we left the store with the frog still on the counter¡ªI took a glance back at it as we walked out, in time to see the cashier return the frog to the sitting position it was in before we came in and messed with it.

    In the doorway, I said, ¡°That frog was really cute.¡±

    Ava said, ¡°It totally was.¡±

    0 0 0

    Outside the bodega, Ava asked Yoru: ¡°What do you want to do with the chaff?¡±

    Yoru shrugged, pausing. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I guess we can just kill ¡®em, right?¡±

    ¡°Sure, why not. Kind of what I was thinking.¡±

    ¡°Not like they deserve better.¡±

    ¡°Nah.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the guy¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°The head guy?¡±

    ¡°Yuh.¡±

    ¡°Jim.¡±

    ¡°Funny. No, really, what is it?¡±

    ¡°Jim. His name is literally Jim this time.¡±

    ¡°God, really?¡±

    ¡°Jim¡¯s a really common name, dude.¡±

    ¡°I know. It¡¯s just¡ªah, whatever. Jim it is.¡±

    ¡°Yep. You good to go?¡±

    Yoru was eyeing Ava¡¯s bottle. ¡°Shit, I kind of want a soda, too.¡±

    ¡°Go get one.¡±

    He made a vaguely affirmative grunt and went back to the store.

    That left me alone with Ava. I knew there was some kind of friction between us, but I wasn¡¯t sure what it was about¡ªit was just a strange invisible wall¡ªand I didn¡¯t know how to address it. She never went out of her way to talk to me without a reason; even Yoru did that, if only to lightly make fun. I never got the sense that Yoru was really being antagonistic, even though the teasing made me squirm. He always made sure to pull back if it seemed like I was taking it too hard. Ava, on the other hand, just didn¡¯t talk to me. She was too tall, too cool and collected, to associate with someone like me. In a lot of ways she reminded me of an older, cooler version of myself¡ªshe had the black bob I wanted to do when I was older, the piercing eyes I wished I had¡ªand in the same blue, too¡ªand she was tall enough to make the biker jacket work, which I was still too young and too small to do. I could almost pass as her younger sister, assuming nobody looked too closely. Her hair was dyed and mine wasn¡¯t¡ªand I had just enough of my mother in my genes to not quite make it as any completely white person¡¯s little sister.

    This was one of the only times I¡¯d been with her without Yoru. Now I had a single chance, for a minute and a half, to ask her why she was always so cold to me while Yoru was not. I could finally find out what it was I did.

    But instead of coming up with something that had nuance, I just asked her, point-blank: ¡°Do you hate me?¡±

    Maybe it was the crystal-clear sun making me crazy, the light refracting through her green soda bottle, the liquid inside catching and glinting with the glare behind it.

    I was never that forward, never in my whole life.

    Ava finished taking her drink, and she re-twisted the cap back on, and said, ¡°You¡¯re better at dealing blackjack than me. Why the fuck do you know how to do that?¡±

    Yoru emerged from the store with a soda and we set off again.

 4 - Street War, No Survivors (2)

    So we walked the last tenth of a mile, the two of them sipping sodas in front and myself, with no drink, trailing behind. We no longer had a good angle to see the basketball game¡ªit was blocked by a gate¡ªso Yoru and Ava turned their attention to where we were going.

    Forty-three, forty-four.

    Yoru squinted into the sunlight ahead of him. ¡°It¡¯s just gonna be some condo, isn¡¯t it.¡±

    ¡°Looks like it,¡± Ava said, swirling the soda in her bottle.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he said. ¡°Didn¡¯t the old man check the building?¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have been him anyway. You got a problem, take it up with Dev.¡±

    Dev was the head of intelligence; or, the head of Unit 2, which was the unit responsible for doing research into these kinds of things. Somehow, in all my time at the Radiant, I never ended up meeting him.

    Maybe he just avoided me. He wouldn¡¯t have been the only one.

    Yoru wasn¡¯t about to be stopped by something as flimsy as simple logic. ¡°How does the old man expect me to be able to do anything in a tiny fucking condo?¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t, idiot.¡±

    ¡°How does he expect Erika to do anything?¡±

    ¡°Beats me, dude,¡± she said, ¡°but Prochazka doesn¡¯t fuck up routine stuff like this so I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°Gonna be exposed pipes running across the ceiling or some shit,¡± Yoru said.

    I was getting a little tired of being left out of the conversation, despite not having anything to say. I was lucky enough to have something relatively inoffensive and benign to say on hand and ready to go¡ªit came to me in a flash¡ªso I said it, just to speak: ¡°That¡¯d be nice.¡±

    Ava glanced backward at me, like she¡¯d forgotten I was there.

    ¡°Okay, this is it,¡± Yoru said. ¡°Fifty-one.¡±

    We stood in front of the right half of a duplex, three stories tall¡ªalthough from the way the little balconies on each floor sagged, it wouldn¡¯t be that way for long. At one point the building was probably a rich dark brown, and it still was, but enough of the paint had peeled where that could reasonably be doubted.

    ¡°It is attached,¡± Yoru said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He¡¯d finished his soda at a miraculous pace and chucked it into someone else¡¯s trash a few doors back. Ava still had hers. ¡°God dammit.¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± Ava said.

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna have to do this quietly?¡± he continued. Then he paused for a moment, held up a finger, and walked a bit further down the street to check the driveway on the far side of the building. Where we were, the driveway next to 51, there were two cars, but as Yoru reported upon taking a look over there and returning, ¡°No cars at 52. Might be vacant.¡±

    ¡°Yo,¡± Ava said. ¡°Erika.¡±

    I blinked. Realized she¡¯d been trying to get my attention for a couple of seconds.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, instinctively.

    ¡°Can you manipulate soda?¡± she asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s mostly water, right?¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Ava nodded, uncapped her bottle and passed it to me. ¡°You can have the rest of this if you want.¡±

    There was about a third of the bottle left in there, and once I took it I set to swirling it around like she was doing earlier¡ªnot as an explicit imitation but just as something to do with my hands. It was getting fairly warm, and frankly, I was sort of bored.

    ¡°Okay, are we good to go?¡± Yoru asked.

    ¡°Nobody over there?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do this. Who¡¯s knocking?¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°Go for it.¡±

    Ava looked at me. ¡°You stand over there for a bit. I¡¯ll gesture if we need you. Until this is over, I need you to follow what Yoru and I tell you to do extremely closely, okay?¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    I turned red. ¡°Am I not going in?¡±

    Yoru shot Ava an odd look and picked up her train of thought. ¡°No, of course you¡¯re coming in. Don¡¯t worry about it, just listen. Okay?¡±

    I nodded, once, but the hot flush though my face did not dissipate. Yoru took another quick look at Ava¡ªwho was visibly confused¡ªand knocked on the door. Her face snapped back to a vaguely disinterested, aloof look, and it was back to business again.

    I forced myself not to think about it.

    Yoru knocked again.

    ¡°What if nobody answers?¡± he mused.

    ¡°I can pick the lock,¡± I offered, from the sideline.

    Yoru shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll give this a minute, then knock yourself out.¡±

    I set about making myself useful¡ªas in, I started looking for a source of water I could use to make a key with. It was a little too hot and a little too dry to make getting water from the air viable¡ªit had to be really humid, or I had to be really on top of my game, to get enough water to do anything meaningful with that anyway. So I left the two of them there, briefly, to look around the side of the duplex. There was a hose there, attached to a red-knob spigot poking out just above the foundation.  The thing was covered in spiderwebs¡ªI grimaced and swatted at them before grabbing the knob and twisting a couple of times. It was thoroughly dust-stuck, but after a moment I got it running. Once I untwisted the hose from the spigot, I was rewarded with a low hiss and trickle of water.

    Briefly, I thought about watering our little corner of the garden plot my father¡¯s home had in the tiny green area between it and the fence of the house behind us. I couldn¡¯t have been more than eight or nine. Just barely¡ªbecause the sun was in my eyes¡ªI could remember him smiling; or maybe not, I wasn¡¯t sure. The corners of his mouth were drawn tight. I knew that much for certain.

    I blinked and the image was gone.

    I didn¡¯t want to use what I had in the soda bottle unless I absolutely needed it; and then it occurred to me that I should fill up the bottle anyway so I had more in case of an emergency.

    So I held the bottle up to the spigot and realized I just ruined perfectly good soda. Ava had taken a few steps away from the door to peek at what I was doing, and she watched me fill the soda bottle without a word.

    Should¡¯ve just drank the soda first. Stupid.

    I focused on holding the bottle steady. She wasn¡¯t behind me. Wasn¡¯t watching me. I wasn¡¯t turning red. It was perfectly natural to do this on a warm July day.

    ¡°Man,¡± Ava said to Yoru, who was out of my eyesight but presumably still loitering by the door, waiting for someone to show up, ¡°if I¡¯d known she was going to do that I would¡¯ve finished my damn soda.¡±

    0             0             0

    Nobody ever answered the door. Yoru tried knocking a few more times to no avail; and there was no doorbell, so that was out.

    Then again, I can¡¯t blame them. If you were running an illicit trafficking ring out of a duplex, would you answer the door for a bunch of strangers knocking at one o¡¯clock in the afternoon?

    Seems like bad practice.

    So Yoru shrugged and gave up. ¡°Go ahead with the key thing,¡± he said to me, so I did.

    I let a little bit of water out of the bottle¡ªdrawing it out of the top without tipping it¡ªand once I had a ball about the width of a dime I stopped. Gently, I pushed the ball through the keyhole and inside it¡ªthen I flash-froze that ball, which was harder than I was expecting it to be with the keyhole sitting in the July sun baking all day.

    This kind of exercise was deceptively tough for water-keys. I¡¯d had practice at it already, so I rarely ever messed it up, but there was a lot of moving parts to it. It was easy to screw up. That said, I was determined¡ªI wanted Ava to see I was good for something.

    I¡¯d felt like enough of a third wheel today. This was my time.

    I got the key frozen and formed, and then I grabbed the swollen end poking out of the hole and¡ªfocusing a bit to keep it from breaking¡ªI twisted it in the lock and turned the doorknob.

    Before opening it, I glanced back at Yoru¡ªand he nodded in approval¡ªso I pushed the door open.

    There didn¡¯t appear to be anyone in there, but not in a way that suggested that nobody ever was. Evidently whoever owned this place liked to keep things clean¡ªmaybe it was easier to keep track of the prisoners if there weren¡¯t any chip bags on the floor or dust on the tables. All of the glass was clean; the coffee table in the center of the living room we¡¯d walked in on was bare but unscratched, with a basket of magazines underneath.

    You could¡¯ve told me that anyone lived here; which, I supposed, was the point.

    ¡°Go time,¡± Ava whispered. ¡°Let¡¯s stick together. One floor up at a time, then to the basement.¡±

    Yoru and I nodded.

    We took a few steps into that unlit room, visible only through the filtered blue light coming in through the window shades. The three of us crept along, with Yoru and Ava sticking to the walls where they could¡ªbut I walked more or less down the middle of the room.

    What need did I have for subtlety?

    Feet appeared at the top of the staircase on the far side of the room¡ªone in front of the other they padded downstairs with rhythmic thumps and along with them came words: ¡°Who the fuck are you people?¡±

    And the lower half of the body, where I could only see legs and hands, reached for a black object clipped to the back of the person¡¯s pants¡ª

    From the bottle I still clutched in my left hand I drew a snake of water about a foot long and half an inch thick, and I did something I developed over a few days when I arrived¡ªI popped half-inch sections of the snake off the end and semi-froze them, letting them supercool into ice shaped by the force of them shooting through the air¡ªice darts, I supposed¡ªand fired them off, one after another, right at the pants¡¯ knees. They slammed into the person¡¯s kneecaps and smashed them, and they crumpled.

    And as soon as I saw the body fall, and the head enter the frame, I took the rest of the snake and hardened it into a spear, and shot it dead-center for his temple.

    It caught the man in the cheek and slammed his head into the wall, exploding his jaw into a meteor shower of red and bone.

    The body twitched for a moment and stopped moving. For good measure, I put a second ice-dart square in his forehead, now that he wasn¡¯t going anywhere. Just to be sure.

    Ava regarded my handiwork, rubbing her forehead. ¡°God. I guess we¡¯re just killing everyone, then,¡± she said.

    I wanted to say something about the gun I saw him reaching for, but I figured everyone must have seen that and I didn¡¯t want to say something redundant.

    So I kept my mouth shut.

    Yoru stepped up to the staircase and took a peek at the wreckage. ¡°That was quick,¡± he said, examining the body. ¡°How about that.¡±

    ¡°I have good aim,¡± I said. That was all I had to say about that. The rest of it, I figured, explained itself.

    ¡°You sure do,¡± Yoru replied, and I¡¯m sure he felt the same way.

 5 - Street War, No Survivors (3)

    We made it to the top floor. On the way there I executed three other random henchman who hadn¡¯t explicitly followed the other one to their deaths. We weren¡¯t strictly supposed to kill everyone, but it just ended up being easier that way.

    Why bother trying to separate the innocent from the guilty?

    On the top floor there was a bedroom with the door closed¡ªit was the only room up there that had a door. Presumably, it was where the boss of this operation worked.

    Given that the door was still closed despite all the commotion downstairs, I wondered if we could have just ignored him, gone downstairs, freed the prisoners, and left.

    Ava seemed to share that sentiment. ¡°Maybe we should just go free everyone first.¡±

    Yoru shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t care. Do whatever you want.¡±

    ¡°I can handle this myself. You go down there,¡± she said.

    ¡°Got it,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯ll come back when I¡¯m done, ¡®kay?¡±

    Ava grunted something vaguely affirmative in his direction and took hold of the doorknob. Yoru disappeared back down the steps, and Ava opened the door.

    Behind the desk was a man clutching a small handgun; paralyzed by the sounds he¡¯d heard coming from downstairs. He was oddly well put together for a human trafficker¡ªthat didn¡¯t seem like a suit-and-tie sort of job, but here that man was: some flavor of eastern European, six foot on the dot if I had to guess, wearing a suit and tie and sitting behind a child¡¯s desk in a converted bedroom, clutching a little black pistol at a young woman and child.

    What a world.

    There hadn¡¯t been any screams¡ªonly squelches and thumps; a sign of a job well done. As soon as he saw Ava his finger twitched around the trigger; but then he saw me, and he held back.

    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± he growled¡ªit was the closest thing to a menacing voice he could manage, surely.

    Ava opened her mouth and I cut her off. ¡°I¡¯m Erika, this is Ava. We killed everyone.¡±

    She took a quick glance at me, one of no substance that I could tell whatsoever, and said: ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s more or less it. I¡¯m gonna be real with you, man, I don¡¯t really know what we¡¯re supposed to do here. My colleague is downstairs right now busting all the prisoners out. We represent Jan Prochazka of the Radiant, by the way¡ªI¡¯m supposed to tell you that. Not that it matters much.¡±

    Ava shrugged. ¡°Listen. We¡¯re supposed to negotiate with you for the release of the prisoners, but since you only have four guys in this whole building for some fucking reason, we just killed everyone and we¡¯re just going to bust the prisoners out. Theoretically there was supposed to be a way you¡¯d make it out of this alive, but at this point I just want to go home.¡±

    She punctuated it with another shrug. ¡°And God, I just really do not have any sympathy for you.¡±

    Ava gestured vaguely at me, then turned around. ¡°Do whatever you want. Dude¡¯s too much of a pussy to shoot a kid. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve got anything resembling rage up in there, but if you do, now¡¯s the time.¡±

    She patted me on the shoulder once. I zapped to attention.

    Then she said, ¡°Get ¡¯em,¡± and left the room.

    I blinked; the guy behind the desk did more or less the same.

    What was his name? Last week I was told¡ªby the guy I froze to the side of a pool table; something he¡¯d gasped before I decapitated him. That was only seven days, wasn¡¯t it? Maybe eight; but either way, not that long. And for all I knew it might as well have been a lifetime, with everything I¡¯d seen and done since then.

    God, it was on the tip of my tongue. I clawed at that blank spot in my memory and could not for the life of me dredge it up.

    Instead, I started thinking about how Yoru and Ava essentially didn¡¯t do anything today. I can read a map, I could¡¯ve gotten here myself. I¡¯ve taken the city buses around before, it¡¯s not hard. We didn¡¯t actually negotiate with anyone, either, and not negotiating is one of my strong suits.

    So why couldn¡¯t I have done this alone?

    ¡°It was all me,¡± I said to him.

    ¡°You what?¡±

    ¡°I did all the dirty work today,¡± I replied. ¡°Yoru and Ava didn¡¯t even do anything. I¡¯m just a bruiser again.¡±

    He didn¡¯t react to that. I¡¯m not sure the term meant anything to him. Instead, he asked me: ¡°That was Ava, huh?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    He put the gun down on the table. ¡°She seems like a real bitch.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have much of an opinion on Ava¡ªit only went as far as this: ¡°I don¡¯t think she likes me very much.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t imagine why,¡± the guy said.

    I glanced down at the water bottle. ¡°I¡¯m almost out,¡± I mumbled, mostly to myself.

    He had a mug of coffee on his desk, though, so in a pinch I could use that. It was still mostly full, too, which was a plus.

    ¡°You¡¯re one of them key users, huh?¡± he said. Slipping out of formalities.

    I nodded. ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°You can manipulate water?¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s pretty cool,¡± he said.

    ¡°It is,¡± I replied.

    It was more or less all I had to call my own, but I didn¡¯t say that.

    Then, like a revelation from heaven¡ª

    ¡°Jim!¡± I said.

    ¡°Huh?¡± he asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s your name,¡± I said. ¡°I just remembered.¡±

    I turned red; what a stupid thing to say to someone. Obviously, Jim knew his own name.

    ¡°How old are you?¡± Jim asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m twelve,¡± I said. ¡°I joined the Radiant about a month ago.¡±

    ¡°Bit young for this work, aren¡¯t you?¡± he replied.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I can¡¯t really do anything else.¡±

    ¡°Sure you can,¡± Jim said, adopting some kind of mock concern. It couldn¡¯t have been real concern; that was impossible for guys like him. ¡°You¡¯re young, you¡¯ve got your whole life ahead of you.¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m going to make it past thirty.¡±

    His eyes narrowed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°Is that¡ªis that a key thing, or¡­¡±

    ¡°No, most key users live to around a hundred and fifty or sixty.¡± I paused, briefly; but I was never going to see this man again, so what did it matter? I was going to shoot him through the head and walk out in two minutes anyway.

    Anything I said in here was as good as said to myself.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think much about the future,¡± I said. ¡°There¡¯s too much to think about. I used to think I¡¯d just¡ªstop, kind of¡­I don¡¯t know, blink out of existence when I turned thirty. Like that was enough life for me, or¡­that was all the time I¡¯d bought, or something. Now, I¡¯m not so sure. I¡¯ve got it pretty good now. I could see myself going past that, but¡­I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I used to be pretty dead-set on stopping then, when things were really bad. But I¡¯ve been blessed.¡± I drew a bit of water out of the bottle and let it slither around in the air for a moment, just to show him that I could. ¡°With this. And with them.¡±

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    I gestured behind me. I thought I had more to say, but somewhere in there it fell out of my short-term memory, so I just let my arm limply fall back to my side and stopped talking.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Jim said. After a moment, he added: ¡°You consider Ava a blessing?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s horrible to you,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen her for maybe five seconds and even I can tell that.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯d understand,¡± I said.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I need to,¡± he said. ¡°She obviously thinks you¡¯re trash.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not her specifically. That I¡¯ve been blessed with, I mean. It¡¯s all of them. You wouldn¡¯t get it.¡±

    Jim paused. ¡°Maybe not,¡± he said, quietly. He looked down at the gun again, and for a moment I wasn¡¯t sure if he was going to pick it up and shoot me or pick it up and shoot himself. Neither option would¡¯ve surprised me.

    Instead, he said: ¡°Erika, look. What are you doing with people like them? They obviously don¡¯t respect you, and I¡­I mean, God. Not like they¡¯re angels either.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a human trafficker,¡± I said.

    Jim looked me dead in the eye¡ªit made my mind buzz; it gave me an irresistible urge to look away.

    ¡°Erika, there isn¡¯t anyone in the basement,¡± he said. ¡°Swear on my life. I have no idea why the hell you people are here.¡±

    But he shrugged, gave me a halfhearted smile. ¡°But you¡¯re a key user and I¡¯m just a guy with a toy gun, so it¡¯s not like I can stop you if you don¡¯t believe me.¡±

    ¡°I could just go downstairs and check,¡± I said.

    ¡°You could,¡± he replied.

    ¡°That seems like a bad idea, though,¡± I said. ¡°Worst case I just wait for Ava to get back and then I kill you.¡±

    Jim shrugged again. It seemed like all he was capable of doing, like this was some cruel jokes¡¯ end for him. I suppose it was, after all. ¡°Worth a shot.¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± I replied.

    I looked at him again. ¡°Why do you care what I do with my life?¡±

    Jim looked down into his coffee mug for a moment¡ªit dawned on him that even if I put down the water bottle, or if I missed with my shot from it, he was dead to the coffee anyway. So there was no way out, none at all.

    No outs. Dead to rites¡ªdead on board, as Benji occasionally referred to it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re about to blow my brains out. But you probably should, right?¡±

    I thought briefly about the stuffed frog I didn¡¯t get to buy, and for half a second I was sad.

    ¡°It¡¯s not really much of a life.¡±

    ¡°Any life is a life.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think the people downstairs would agree,¡± I said.

    And I felt really proud of myself, because that was the first good comeback I¡¯d ever come up with in my life. I stashed it in my memory for future usage.

    His shiny veneer of care broke. The weight of his imminent death broke over him, and as he slumped forward under the weight of it he spoke his true feelings, as best I understood them: ¡°You¡¯re twelve fucking years old,¡± he said.

    ¡°I am,¡± I replied.

    ¡°What the fuck is happening?¡±

    ¡°This is,¡± I said. ¡°This is happening.¡±

    ¡°No. You¡¯re¡ªGod, I¡¯m just gonna repeat myself again. This is some crazy shit. Ben¡¯s never gonna believe me when I tell him,¡± he said.

    ¡°You won¡¯t be telling him anything.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Jim said. ¡°He was my twin brother. He died of a brain tumor when he was twenty-six. It was¡­um¡­four years ago now? God, where does the time go. You¡¯ll be thirty before you know it, you know. It sneaks up on you. One day you¡¯re thirteen and all you care about is the math test and that fuck who keeps shooting spitballs at you¡ªdo kids still do that?¡ªand the next you¡¯re twenty-two and you¡¯re trying to get a job out of college, but none of your skills line up with anything because you were too goddamn stupid to major in something useful, and then¡­well¡­you¡¯re thirty years old and you don¡¯t know how you got here or when you got so jaded. I don¡¯t know where I am, Erika, I really have no idea. How did I get here? I don¡¯t think I could trace the path back even if I tried.¡±

    He looked down at his desk again, glanced over at the coffee. He picked up the mug and took a sip. ¡°You know what, fuck it. I was gonna try and distract you with a story and shoot you, but¡­god damn it, that bitch was right. I can¡¯t shoot a kid. That¡¯s your real superpower, you know. I don¡¯t know who Jan Prochazka is, but if he¡¯s enough of a rat bastard to put a kid on the front lines, then he deserves whatever¡¯s coming to him.¡±

    ¡°I do this of my own free will,¡± I said. ¡°I want to do this.¡±

    ¡°Sure you do,¡± he muttered. ¡°Sure you do.¡±

    My tone did not change. ¡°I¡¯m going to kill you now,¡± I said.

    ¡°Knock yourself out, kid,¡± he mumbled. ¡°You do you.¡±

    I took hold of the coffee in his mug¡ªit was room-temperature black coffee, which made this whole thing easier¡ªand I made it bubble a bit, in anticipation.

    ¡°Thirty¡¯s a blink away,¡± Jim said. ¡°That¡¯s all I got for you. You¡¯ll be thirty before you know it. If I were you, I¡¯d make the deadline forty or fifty. Thirty¡¯s not enough time to figure out if life is good or bad. It¡¯s barely enough time to figure out who the fuck you are.¡±

    I picked a point in the center of the coffee mug and pulled it out, dragging all the coffee out behind it¡ªfreezing it as it went¡ªand it fired itself like a model rocket into Jim¡¯s forehead, cracking through the bone plate of his forehead and splattering his red-gray brains across the window behind his desk.

    That was it, I suppose.

    I don¡¯t really have anything else to say.

    0             0             0

    That night Yoru announced we were gonna play some blackjack, which put me on the hook to deal, much to Ava¡¯s chagrin.

    Before we started, though, he pulled me aside.

    ¡°Can we talk for a second? Outside,¡± he said.

    I nodded. ¡°Sure.¡±

    By that point I already had a beer in me, and I¡¯m so small that it was enough to loosen me up a bit.

    I never really felt like a real person until I had one. I knew it wasn¡¯t good to drink too often, but I figured one or two beers two times a week wasn¡¯t going to kill me. It was a small price to pay to not have to stand out when everyone was together, having fun. At first, I didn¡¯t like it, and just suffered through the drink for the sake of it, but lately I was changing my mind.

    We left the big room that Unit 6 used as a joint common-room and barracks¡ªwith two bunk beds on either side, a single bed next to each bunk set, and a big round table in the middle flanked by mini-fridges, and stepped out into the lonely hall.

    Yoru shuffled a bit. He only met my eyes for a second. ¡°What took you so long out there?¡±

    I blinked. ¡°Oh. Um¡­Ava talked to the guy up there for a bit, and then she left, and I shot him. I spent a little while just standing around up there, though.¡±

    I¡¯ve never been good at lying, not outright, anyway, but over time I¡¯ve developed an equally useful skill, which is telling stories that are technically true, but don¡¯t invoke the same conclusions. I was, technically, standing around for a while, and maybe the events were in a different order than I said, but I didn¡¯t say anything that was outright false, so I didn¡¯t struggle.

    Plus, I was a little tipsy already, so it was fine. It helped me not think about it too much.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he replied. He pursed his lips for a moment, and looked away from me, but when he opened his mouth to speak again it was about something else: ¡°I¡¯m sorry about Ava. She¡­isn¡¯t really comfortable around you.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± I said.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Yoru said. He scratched his neck, looked away from me. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s pretty obvious, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°She basically said so.¡± If I wasn¡¯t a little out of it already, I never would¡¯ve spoken ill about someone I had to see every day, but I was, so I did. ¡°She said ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve got rage, but if you do, now¡¯s the time. Or, um, something like that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s sort of underhanded,¡± he said. ¡°Sounds like something she¡¯d say, though.¡±

    ¡°Is she going to be pissy at the table again?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Beats me. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯ll even play. I mean¡­look, Erika, Ava¡¯s a nice girl, I swear. You just¡­kind of freak her out a little, that¡¯s all.¡±

    That kind of comment used to make me uncomfortable, because it was a signal that I was about to be treated like a subhuman. But nowadays I was too used to it to care, and being a little drunk did little to change that.

    ¡°I get it,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    But I didn¡¯t get it, really, and it wasn¡¯t really fine.

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Yoru said. He took it straight at face value, and I realized that I¡¯d just lied to his face, and it didn¡¯t make me uncomfortable.

    Or maybe it was one of those half-truths I told so often, but at that time I couldn¡¯t really tell how much of what I said was true and how much just adjacent to the truth. It was a complicated net of things I couldn¡¯t prove, couldn¡¯t see, and couldn¡¯t properly understand¡ªit wasn¡¯t worth thinking about.

    Well, it was¡ªtruly it was¡ªbut the truth is that I didn¡¯t think about it because I couldn¡¯t.

    I just didn¡¯t understand. It was beyond me. It was too much work for too little payoff. Maybe, with it all written out and with a good couple of hours, I could draw the lines from one word to one feeling and back around through all of everyone¡¯s actions and properly draw a net that encompassed who I was to everyone I cared about, but what did that matter when I could just choose to take everyone¡¯s word at face value instead, and hope everyone did the same for me?

    Surely, that was good enough.

    Yoru went to go back inside, but instead he stopped and faced me again. ¡°Can I ask you a frank question?¡±

    I was still in the glow from a job well done, or maybe it was the alcohol. I wasn¡¯t about to let something as puny and insignificant as words stop me. Sure, maybe Ava didn¡¯t like me, and maybe Yoru was still on the fence about siding with his girlfriend or trying to change her mind about me, but that was all inconsequential¡ªit had nothing to do with me, really, because there wasn¡¯t all that much I could do about it.

    It was foreign affairs to me, nothing more.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said.

    ¡°There¡¯s no connotation,¡± he added. ¡°Just a yes-or-no thing.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I repeated, a little more forcefully.

    ¡°Is there something¡­you know, wrong with you?¡± he asked.

    And I considered that for a moment. I did what I was supposed to do, and I did it well¡ªI filled the entirety of my role and I exceeded expectations. Sure, there was a rocky moment there at the end¡ªbut if I didn¡¯t think about it, it didn¡¯t exist; it was only an event in my mind. Nobody else was there that¡¯s alive to corroborate it; therefore, it didn¡¯t matter if I decided it didn¡¯t matter.

    I did a perfectly good job. Full stop. And if I did a perfectly good job as I knew I did, then there couldn¡¯t possibly be anything wrong with me. Everything was exactly as it should be. As it was ever supposed to be.

    On the other hand¡ªhow was I supposed to know if something was wrong with me? All I really knew was myself, and even then my grasp on that was tenuous at best. Other people, who knew themselves and more, could make that call, but I couldn¡¯t. My sample size was one, and I remembered from science class that we weren¡¯t supposed to draw conclusions from just one piece of evidence. I didn¡¯t know enough about, say, Yoru or Ava or Cygnus to say if anything was wrong with them. By my standards, we were all essentially the same.

    So maybe the question didn¡¯t have an answer. Maybe it did, and I simply wasn¡¯t the person who could answer it. Or maybe the question didn¡¯t matter. No matter what, though, I decided it wasn¡¯t worth my time.

    So I shrugged and said to him: ¡°That¡¯s not really my call to make, is it?¡±

 6 - I Am but a Simple Girl (1)

    {August 30}

    Unpleasant morning.

    I woke up with a hole in my head filled with stinging insects; the roar of a cement mixer between my ears. It was all I could do to sit up; all I could do to roll myself up into a tiny ball like a scared pill-bug.

    Yesterday¡ª

    Cygnus and I were on a SAD mission, a search-and-destroy, where we seek to make as many people sad as possible by waltzing into a location like we own the place and just eviscerating anyone silly enough to stand still for too long. We weren¡¯t even told what the operation was¡ªit didn¡¯t matter beyond the fact that they were all irredeemables, all complacent in terrible acts, and therefore they all had to die, lest they spread their pitiful disease across upstate New York.

    Prochazka¡¯s words.

    Recalling them then I could just barely sense the shape of those phrases¡ªcold buzzing outlines of words, skittering back and forth across my brain too quickly for me to gather the whole sentence¡ªall irredeemables, all complacent¡ªall irredeemables¡ªterrible acts¡ªall had to die¡ªpitiful disease¡ªthey spread¡ª

    He made a point of selling the rhetoric, that was for sure.

    So Cygnus and I had walked in there, and I had a water bottle in my hand like I always did, and we were the angels of death, and all who stood before us were mowed down without remorse.

    An angel of death like I¡¯d always dreamed I could be.

    How long had I spent dreaming of exactly this? Of retribution against everyone who¡¯d ever wronged me¡ªof rebellion against the thing everyone said I was?

    I didn¡¯t know what was wrong with me. Nobody ever said. My dad worked a menial factory job that was just barely enough to pay for our house, so he never had the money or time to get anything looked at. He always said that he¡¯d rather be homeless than be a slave to a landlord¡ªso he chose freedom over health insurance, and he chose having a lawn and a basement over understanding me.

    I think that was okay with me. I¡¯m not sure I ever wanted to be understood by him.

    Every day I went to school as a mystery¡ªsome strange crumbling automaton that couldn¡¯t speak, couldn¡¯t understand. Maybe something was wrong with me, maybe there wasn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t know, but other people certainly felt like they did.

    I still don¡¯t know.

    But see¡ª

    On June 11<sup>th</sup>, my twelfth birthday, I received the only gift I had every prayed for.

    And all of that fell away; and I became invincible. Now I had the means. Now I had the will.

    The truth is that I am a simple girl, and I have simple desires.

    0             0             0

    I didn¡¯t really remember anything I did the night before. I had vague recollections, but nothing more. I couldn¡¯t think of myself doing anything particularly embarrassing, so I wasn¡¯t exactly worried, but the fact that my memory was spotty at all concerned me.

    And my vision was blurry¡ªI kept rubbing my eyes and it wouldn¡¯t clear up.

    As soon as I could stand to do it, I opened my eyes fully and scanned the room, looking for a familiar face, and everyone was gone except for Cygnus.

    Something I noticed:

    Half the people in Unit 6 made their beds in the morning, and the other half didn¡¯t. I usually didn¡¯t, and neither did Yoru or Ava, but Benji, Cygnus, and Bell all did.

    Although I got the sense that Bell didn¡¯t spend all that much time in hers, since she had that habit of disappearing at two in the morning every night.

    It occurred to me, as the morning¡¯s first real thought shot through my skull like a spike, that I hadn¡¯t seen Benji in quite a while. Briefly I wondered what he was up to, but then the smell of coffee hit my nose and I had to stop thinking in order to focus on not retching instead.

    ¡°¡¯Bout time,¡± Cygnus said, raising the coffee up in his hand as a greeting. ¡°You looked dead up there.¡±

    ¡°I think I am,¡± I mumbled.

    ¡°There¡¯s more than enough coffee in the pot for another if you¡¯re interested,¡± he said.

    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know,¡± I said. It was all I could manage, truthfully.

    ¡°I told you to drink more water,¡± he said. ¡°But¡ªnah, right?¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    I supposed I was being mocked, so I turned red.

    ¡°I¡¯m not mocking you,¡± Cygnus said, looking down at his coffee again. After a sip he added: ¡°Just poking fun, that¡¯s all.¡±

    Cygnus was as put-together as he always was. He only seemed to own button-down shirts. Today it was a deep red, a shiny silk that he must have only been wearing since it was his day off. Coupling that with a pair of pressed black dress pants and he could¡¯ve been ready to go for a nice meal at the town¡¯s only boutique restaurant.

    He sat, legs crossed, in one of the metal folding chairs associated with the big central table, but he¡¯d pulled it away to face me once he realized I was awake.

    ¡°It¡¯s ten-thirty,¡± he added. ¡°Ought to come down now, huh?¡±

    The idea of climbing down the ladder right then made me light-headed, but I¡¯d have to get out of the bunk if I wanted to get some water, so I pursed my lips tight and squirmed my way over to the ladder.

    I made it down in one piece, surprisingly enough¡ªbut if I just rolled off the bunk and hit the floor, I probably would¡¯ve been fine, too. It¡¯s not like the bunk was that high, and I was invincible, so it didn¡¯t matter.

    I started rubbing my eyes again, and I noticed I was making a low groaning noise about ten seconds too slowly. Everything in my brain was running ten seconds behind.

    Now that I was down there, Cygnus could get a better look at me. ¡°Good Lord, Erika,¡± he said. ¡°You look like hell.¡±

    I frowned. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    It didn¡¯t even register with me that he¡¯d said what he did. By the time I realized, it was too far in the past for me to care any longer.

    ¡°Go drink some water,¡± he said. ¡°And take some aspirin every couple hours until you feel better.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re fine?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get hungover,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯m responsible and shit.¡±

    Behind him, his newest pipe-sword¡ªfrom yesterday¡ªlay up against the wall, unsheathed, balanced against the drywall only by the bottom of the hilt and the pressure of its tip.

    ¡°Did I do anything after¡­um¡­¡±

    I stepped into the fog of my own memory, trying to recall the last sequence of angry red numbers on Yoru¡¯s side-table digital clock. 9:45, 10:21, 11:13¡­midnight-something? One or two?

    ¡°After one?¡± I guessed.

    Cygnus frowned. ¡°Yeah, I knew I shouldn¡¯t have let you have that last one. That¡¯s on me.¡±

    ¡°Did I black out?¡± I asked.

    ¡°If you have to ask that question, the answer is always yes,¡± he replied.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°But to answer your question, not all that much,¡± he said. Took another sip. ¡°You laughed a lot.¡±

    ¡°Laughed a lot?¡±

    ¡°You just thought everything everybody said was a riot. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever heard you laugh before.¡±

    Even through the mire, that made me pause. I suppose saying I don¡¯t laugh much makes my life sound far more pitiful than it actually was. I wasn¡¯t an orphan, I wasn¡¯t slaving away in a coal mine somewhere for pennies. My life, in the grand scheme of all possible lives, wasn¡¯t actually all that bad.

    That didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t happy to leave it. When I came home to that place every day¡ªmostly alone¡ªI spent every waking second waiting for the time when I could have something better. Even if I felt like I didn¡¯t deserve it because of the things I wanted to do.

    I wasn¡¯t ever expecting to have one of my wishes granted. I¡¯d always assumed¡ªmiserable as I was¡ªthat wish-granting was a linear process. It went backward from the most miserable forward, to ensure that everyone who¡¯d been wronged got their revenge.

    It turns out that it doesn¡¯t really work that way. In a perfect system, that would be the way it was¡ªbut in the world we had, it was far more arbitrary. Sometimes, people who¡¯d never wished for anything in their lives get powers beyond their wildest dreams¡ªand for every child like me, there was another who choked to death on coal dust.

    What more could I ask for than a purpose, a will, and a set of people who at least tolerated me? I had none of the three before and now I had all of them. Asking for more than that was just greedy.

    I couldn¡¯t let myself ask for more. I just couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°I¡¯m happier than I¡¯ve ever been,¡± I said, after a moment.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never felt like this before,¡± I said.

    Cygnus nodded.

    I blinked. It turned out that I didn¡¯t have anything else to say.

    ¡°I mean¡ª¡± Cygnus started into something, but thought better of it and bit his tongue, for the first time in the two months I¡¯d known him. God only knew what it was¡ªand even through my fog I caught it. In the time I¡¯d been at the Radiant, I¡¯d become very vigilant of how other people reacted to me. I paid a level of attention that bordered on fanaticism to it. I knew it made Ava uncomfortable, because it was accompanied with an amount of staring that she didn¡¯t like.

    So I was hell-bent on making sure nobody here hated me. I wanted to know what they were thinking. I spent more time than I¡¯m willing to admit day-dreaming of being a telepath¡ªhow cool would that be? No more mysteries. No more wordplay. Only truths. It wasn¡¯t something I found myself actively wishing for¡ªbut it was an alternate reality, no better or worse than this one, that I played around in.

    It would be so much simpler.

    Cygnus liked me well enough, I figured. The teasing was just a part of his personality. I hated teasing, don¡¯t get me wrong¡ªGod knew I¡¯d had enough of that¡ªbut he¡¯d had my back enough times during missions where I felt fairly confident that he actually did, in fact, like me. If not, then at least he respected me, which was new in itself.

    Yoru seemed to like me okay, too. Ava didn¡¯t, but Yoru made a point of defending me against her on a couple of occasions. Something in his demeanor changed after our mission together last month on High Street¡ªhe¡¯d started asking how I was when he saw me in the factory¡¯s halls. Our conversation would never go beyond the simple script, but it was better it was before.

    I felt like I was getting somewhere.

    Benji, I didn¡¯t see often enough to know. He was busy with management stuff, and going out to talk to people. I¡¯d only seen him a handful of times.

    Bell was a complete enigma. We hadn¡¯t spoken a word to each other since that day at lunch, even though I¡¯d seen her once or twice. I had no idea what she was doing and I didn¡¯t yet feel comfortable just asking her.

    I snapped back to attention just in time to catch Cygnus talking again. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you could drink away your problems that efficiently.¡±

    I blinked. Didn¡¯t really know what to say.

    ¡°I mean¡­last night, you were¡­¡±

    He faltered. His eyes dropped to the mug. ¡°Man, this isn¡¯t worth it. Forget I said anything.¡±

    I didn¡¯t.

    I never could.

    0             0             0

    I spent a lot of time that day walking around outside, trying to nurse the remnants of my hangover and enjoy the sunshine, but it wasn¡¯t until three or four that I felt up to speed again.

    But I couldn¡¯t shake Cygnus¡¯s half-thought. It wasn¡¯t possible to drink away what I had. It just doesn¡¯t work like that. And yet¡ªif he thought it did, wasn¡¯t that just as good? Wasn¡¯t that the same thing?

    Did it matter what I had if nobody else thought it was there?

    But I supposed it didn¡¯t matter. Alcohol was for nights after missions, nothing more.

    If I only got to be normal twice a week, so be it.

 7 - I Am but a Simple Girl (2)

    I spent long enough wandering around town where I started to recognize the faces of fellow wanders¡ªand how on the third or fourth pass they started to look concerned for me.

    So I set off back home at around sunset.

    I don¡¯t think of myself a particularly complicated person. My wants are not complex¡ªso I spend a lot of time asking myself why other people find me so hard to understand. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m speaking some foreign language.

    I guess it was really amazing what something as simple as a light communication barrier could do to a group of people.

    Maybe I hadn¡¯t made a good enough attempt at explaining myself, but I didn¡¯t ever have an opportunity to. We were all so rarely in the same place together, and the idea of spilling my secrets in public like that made me nauseous.

    It wasn¡¯t proper to complain about something that was ostensibly my fault, even if I couldn¡¯t really do anything about it through standard means.

    By nine o¡¯clock that night, I was ready to forgive Cygnus for his surely meaningless comment. I hadn¡¯t even decided if I was offended by it or not, but I was choosing to not be for the sake of comfort. I needed Cygnus to like me and chastising him for a comment he didn¡¯t mean (surely) seemed like a poor way to go about that.

    It still nagged at the back of my head, but I refused to give it quarter.

    But when I came home, he wasn¡¯t there. I walked back into an empty room and my heart dropped through my chest; I needed to say to him that I felt nothing. I needed to tell him he was forgiven.

    Now that I couldn¡¯t, I didn¡¯t know what to do.

    So instead of working my way through that feeling, I walked over to the one computer we all shared¡ªCygnus¡¯s ?laptop¡ªturned it on, turned on the TV, grabbed the remote, and sat on the floor to go thumbing through shows on Cygnus¡¯s favorite ¡°legal¡± streaming website.

    Since I was alone, I¡¯d shut off all the lights. I wanted it to be dark. There was me, and there was the big fifty-inch TV bathing me in blue light, and the rectangular pictures featuring various brightly-colored characters for each show.

    I went through them in order, Bluetooth keyboard/touchpad combo in hand, picking each one and reading the summary.

    For a moment, I forgot I existed.

    I found one I thought would be a good time-killer¡ªI wasn¡¯t really in the mood for anything challenging¡ªand I started up the first episode.

    ¡°This show drives off a cliff after episode six. It¡¯s not worth it.¡±

    I whipped around, adrenaline in overdrive, instinctively drawing water out of a cup on the table and letting it whirl around my hand like a bracelet.

    Standing there was a woman in a long black coat. In the blue light coating the room, she was dark, seven feet tall and ghostly. She regarded me with a cold stare; her eyes so dilated they were mostly pupil, and my breath caught in my throat. I had no idea who that person was or how they got in here, or how they found me, or why their first comment was about the show I was planning to watch.

    It took me a few seconds to realize it was just Bell.

    I don¡¯t claim to be very smart. I never have.

    ¡°Your eyes,¡± I managed, as the fear drained slowly out of my head. The water ringing my hand drifted back to the bottle it came from.

    Bell blinked. ¡°Shit.¡±

    As I watched, her irises reappeared; a sort of steel gray I hadn¡¯t bothered to extensively at before, mostly because they were fairly unremarkable as eyes go. Without the pupil trick, they were dull. Almost lifeless.

    I¡¯d never gotten a good look at Bell before. We met rarely, and it was mostly in the context of watching TV with Cygnus. On the whole, I spent far more time with Cygnus, Yoru, and Ava than I did with Bell or Benji.

    Come to think of it, prior to right then, the longest amount of time I''d spent with Bell was the time she sat with Cygnus and I and had lunch. Beyond that, we¡¯d only had passing encounters with short words, almost all of which led me to the idea that she didn¡¯t like me and there wasn¡¯t anything I could do to rectify that.

    But this¡ªthis was an opportunity.

    Bell turned away. ¡°Should probably take my coat off, too.¡±

    She hung her coat on the hook¡ªwhere I hadn¡¯t even noticed it was missing¡ªwhen she turned back to face me, I saw her again in just a gray T-shirt for some band I didn¡¯t know and dark jeans, and she was as unremarkable as any random person on the street, aside from being six foot something. I could¡¯ve walked past her a dozen times today as I was wandering around and never have known.

    It was amazing how much the long coat did to make her look less sickly. With just regular clothes on, Bell was tall, sure, but rail-thin and bony. Like she was constructed from copper pipe.

    ¡°I saw you walking around today,¡± she said.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Huh.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see you,¡± I said.

    ¡°I figured. I was inside.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    The show¡¯s intro started playing, some sickeningly bright and happy pop song.

    ¡°Seriously, this show¡¯s really bad,¡± Bell said. ¡°Don¡¯t make the same mistake I did.¡±

    I reached for the remote and paused it. ¡°I didn¡¯t think anyone was going to be home and I didn¡¯t want to watch something we were already watching.¡±

    No key user here was all that old, but Bell could¡¯ve been anywhere between a harrowed eighteen and a chipper forty. She had lines under her eyes like she was aging a bit too fast, but outside of that¡ªthe rest of her face¡ªcould¡¯ve been the face of a college freshman. I wondered when she got her key¡ªmy understanding was that the usual range was sixteen to twenty-four or twenty-five, and as per usual with Bell, I had absolutely no idea where in that range she fell.

    ¡°I normally shut off the eye thing before I have to see anyone I know,¡± she said. ¡°Sorry about that.¡±

    That, at least, cleared something up. Finally¡ªa bit I could latch on to.

    ¡°Are you a flesh-key?¡± I asked her.

    It was the only logical conclusion. Only one kind of person could do anything like that.

    She shrugged. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡±

    She walked over and sat down next to me, legs crossed. Even sitting, she had six inches on me.

    ¡°Were you out all day, too?¡± I asked her, a touch more quietly. She wasn¡¯t even sitting all that close to me, but it still felt like a violation of my personal bubble.

    ¡°I came back here at noon,¡± she said, glancing at her fingernails. ¡°Nobody was here so I took a nap for six hours, then I got up and went out for a quick assignment.¡±

    ¡°I guess I just missed you, then.¡±

    I stopped looking at her. I just couldn¡¯t do it for that long.

    ¡°Heard you were really hungover last night,¡± she said.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    It took me a moment to realize that Bell wasn¡¯t there the night before. It took me another to realize that Bell was almost never there when we sat around the big conference table in the middle of the room and gambled our nights away over blackjack.

    Where did she go all the time?

    So I asked her: ¡°Where do you go every night?¡±

    She frowned. ¡°It¡¯s not every night.¡±

    ¡°But where?¡±

    ¡°Out,¡± she said, simply.

    ¡°At two?¡±

    ¡°So you were just walking around because you were hungover?¡±

    I blinked.

    ¡°Um¡­¡±

    ¡°I can put two and two together,¡± Bell said, reaching around me and sliding the remote out of my still hands. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    She backed out of the listing for the show I was on and went scrolling down the list for something else.

    ¡°Was Cygnus right?¡±

    ¡°About what?¡± she asked, clicking on a show¡¯s icon and reading the synopsis.

    ¡°You being a torturer.¡±

    Bell frowned. ¡°Didn¡¯t realize I was being interrogated tonight.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    I turned red. I wanted Bell to like me.

    But¡ªGod¡ªI wanted to know! I wanted to know so badly!

    The list of truly dark and mysterious people in my life was so small, and now that I finally knew one¡ªjust like in the movies, with the dark coat and the dull cold dead eyes like a fish¡¯s corpse and the hideous secrets¡ªI wanted to know everything there was to know about her. I wanted to know where she came from. The nature of the flesh-key that I¡¯d heard so many people mutter about here. Was she the only one at the Radiant? What could flesh keys do? How powerful was Bell? Was she stronger than me?

    I¡¯d barely used the extent of my power here so far. I hadn¡¯t gotten a chance to truly flex yet¡ªI knew I was capable of so much more than just what could be stored in a plastic water bottle. The need for at least a trivial amount of subtlety kept me chained¡ªbut I could rise. I could be a force of nature unlike anything anyone here had ever seen¡ªProchazka said so; and he knew a strong key when he saw one.

    What did power look like for flesh keys? For water keys, it was obvious¡ªshifting lakes, rivers, whole oceans in some godly sense. For flesh keys, the canvas was a body¡ªwhat could someone do with a body that would be on that sort of scale?

    I had ideas, but I didn¡¯t want ideas¡ªI wanted truths. Musings were worth nothing. I needed the facts.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked her, the fervor of my thoughts coursing through me.

    ¡°I¡¯m Bell,¡± she said, flat. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    I blinked again and the red heat dropped out of me like a dunk tank. Splash, laugh, and wait for the red bloom across the face. You set yourself up for failure. You have nobody but yourself to blame.

    ¡°Look,¡± she said. ¡°I know you want to know all this stuff about me, but I¡¯m not going to tell you anything I don¡¯t want to tell you. I¡¯ll tell you about me in time. Okay?¡±

    ¡°How old are you?¡± I asked, before I could stop myself.

    I just had so many questions. I couldn¡¯t bear to let them all die.

    She made a terse smile. ¡°Guess.¡±

    I knew having a key made this a trick question, but I also knew that basically everyone in Unit 6 looked their age. There was a high turnover rate here¡ªpeople had a tendency to die relatively often.

    So I said to her what I¡¯d said to myself earlier: ¡°Somewhere between eighteen and forty.¡±

    Bell chuckled a little. She had this sort of schoolgirl laugh that was completely at odds with how tall and bony and gaunt she was. God¡ªshe was an expressionist¡¯s idea of a human body. None of her proportions looked quite right¡ªlike they were all designed to be just a little off. Her arms were slightly too long. Her torso was slightly too thin. Her head a little too small, or maybe her eyes were just a little too big.

    It was hard to look at, but hard to look away from. Every time I¡¯d had my fill and looked away, I found myself looking back.

    ¡°I¡¯m twenty-six,¡± she said. ¡°And yes, Cygnus was right. To an extent. There¡¯s only two flesh keys here¡ªone of them is me, and the other is Sophia, who I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve already met, hmm?¡±

    I went a bit pale. Sophia and I did not get along very well.

    ¡°We have,¡± I said.

    ¡°I mean, you literally have to,¡± she replied. ¡°She does checkups on all of us, except me.¡±

    ¡°Except you?¡±

    She smiled, put a finger to her lips. Then, I suppose, she thought better of being coy: ¡°You want to know a secret?¡±

    Yes! God help me¡ªI needed to know.

    Bell had me in the palm of her hand.

    She leaned in close¡ªas if anyone could be listening¡ªas if the rest of Unit 6 was there, and simply invisible.

    There was nothing between us but the blue light from the TV. The inanimate characters staring blankly down at us.

    Backlit by that cold blue glare, Bell whispered to me: ¡°I¡¯m not real, Erika. I don¡¯t need checkups.¡±

    0 0 0

    Bell, obviously, was real. She was a person you could touch¡ªassuming she¡¯d ever let you¡ªand hear and see; so I had no idea what she meant by that. And I thought about it the whole time we were watching TV, and I never came to a good conclusion.

    That seemed to be happening to me a lot in those days. In these days, too. It never stopped. People say things they expect to be simple, and I lose track of myself trying to figure out what it all means.

    I¡¯d considered the possibility that Bell was just messing with me¡ªbut why? Did people really derive that much amusement from confusing an easy target?

    I¡¯ve always been an easy target for that kind of thing. I¡¯m still annoying easy to confuse, if you try to trick me in the right ways. None of that has changed¡ªit¡¯s all just as it was when I was a stone of ten or eleven.

    Here is the truth:

    I am a simple girl, but the world is very complex.

    My simple machinery is overwhelmed.

 8 - The Bad People (1)

    {October 19}

    Benji must have been avoiding me.

    I¡¯d suspected it for a while. It was something in the way I was¡ªwe clashed on a level I couldn¡¯t understand. In theory, he was supposed to be the one in the unit most accepting of who I was, but he wasn¡¯t the one who recruited me. Prochazka subverted his own process to drop me in Unit 6, against Benji¡¯s wishes.

    So Benji avoided me, because he didn¡¯t know what I was capable of and didn¡¯t want to find out. That had to have been it. He must have thought I was insane or retarded or both, somehow.

    I tried to imagine what that would be like, but I wasn¡¯t very good at imagining the motives of people who weren¡¯t right in front of me.

    Despite being there for almost four months, I barely knew anything about him. I knew he was a fire-key; but that was about it. To be fair, I hadn¡¯t exactly tried to look. We weren¡¯t on speaking terms and that was fine. I didn¡¯t need anything from him and he didn¡¯t need anything from me.

    It wasn¡¯t until October was more than halfway through that Benji cornered me, of his own volition, to sort everything out.

    When he came to me in the hallway leading up to Unit 6¡¯s converted row of conference rooms, I thought it was time, and my breath had caught in my throat: he was going to read me the riot act, because he was no longer afraid of me. He was, of course and surely, afraid of me¡ªI was some strange enigma-child forced upon him by the secretive and unknowable Jan Prochazka himself. How was someone supposed to react to that, except with fear and confusion?

    Wasn¡¯t this how horror movies started?

    ¡°Hey, Erika,¡± he said, voice low. ¡°Can I talk to you for a second?¡±

    I was on my way back to the rooms for the night¡¯s TV watching¡ªCygnus said he¡¯d wait for me.

    ¡°Cygnus is waiting for me,¡± I told him, despite that he was my superior and that was, in hindsight, extremely disrespectful.

    ¡°I¡ªwhatever. Look. I¡¯m gonna need your help tomorrow.¡±

    He looked away from me, one arm folded over the other, holding his limp arm¡¯s elbow. This was already the longest conversation we¡¯d had in months¡ªthe last time we¡¯d exchanged more than a nod was in late August. Maybe earlier.

    ¡°Is it a mission?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Benji said. ¡°I¡¯m in a negotiation right now and it¡¯s not looking super great. Tried my best, but, y¡¯know¡ªum¡ªdumb people are gonna be dumb, right?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I said.

    Maybe a little too earnestly¡ªhis face creased up slightly.

    He continued: ¡°I gave Prochazka an update on it earlier today and he said I should probably take a bodyguard with me. I was going to take Cygnus, but he¡¯s busy, and Yoru and Ava are on their own thing, and¡­well¡­Bell¡¯s Bell, so¡­¡±

    I grimaced. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    We fell quiet for a moment. For once in my life I decided to break the silence.

    ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±

    Benji shrugged. ¡°Hopefully nothing. Pretty sure Prochazka¡¯s just being paranoid. These people are weak¡ªlike, they technically have keys, but I¡¯d be damned if any one of them knew what the hell they were doing. They¡¯re a weird hippie cult centered around a couple of small-time emeralds, based out of¡ªget this¡ªSchenectady. It¡¯s seven or eight people that get together in Vale Park at night and mess with the foliage. Prochazka¡¯s worried someone¡¯s gonna see them, so he sent me out there to just, like¡­tell them to be more subtle. Not even to stop, just¡ªlike¡­¡±

    He realized he was rambling and got to the point. Cleared his throat. ¡°What I¡¯m getting at is that I need you to stand behind me and be quiet unless one of them threatens me. Then¡­um¡­threaten them back. They¡¯ll crack if we push at all, I¡¯m sure, but we don¡¯t really want to kill anyone who¡¯s not actually doing anything. They¡¯re not committing any crimes, y¡¯know? They¡¯re harmless.

    ¡°But, well, they do have keys, so if one of them decides to sneak up on me and run a tree up my ass, well¡ªI doubt any of them are actually strong enough to do that, but it would kill me.¡±

    He snickered. I didn¡¯t, initially, but then I started to just to make him not uncomfortable, which actually seemed to make it worse.

    Benji frowned. ¡°So, yeah. I¡¯m meeting them at sundown tomorrow. Schenectady¡¯s a forty-minute drive, so we should probably head out at around five.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he replied. ¡°Um¡ªdismissed, I guess.¡±

    We immediately stopped looking at each other, stepped around the other at the widest berth possible, and went our respective ways.

    0             0             0

    Benji¡¯s not a bad guy. I didn¡¯t think he was, and I didn¡¯t really blame him for avoiding me. If anything, it was my fault for being too nervous to reach out earlier. We both stewed in our anxiety about the other for so long that we couldn¡¯t step past it when we needed to.

    I recognize that I¡¯m hard to like. It¡¯s more important for me to be liked by certain people than others, and despite Benji being my immediate superior, I didn¡¯t much care if he actually liked me or not. We never spoke, I barely ever had to see him since I was rarely assigned anything directly¡ªI generally tagged along with one of the more senior members as an extra set of hands¡ªso it didn¡¯t matter much what he thought of me, as long as he didn¡¯t see me as something small and pitiable. That was the only thing I asked from everyone¡ªjust to not be belittled.

    Lord knows I¡¯ve gotten enough belittlement already. I¡¯d take silence over that. I¡¯d take being invisible over that¡ªthe best days at school were the ones where I¡¯d vanished completely into the beige paint and the peeling red of the lockers. Passing through the halls like a perfect chameleon. Melting into empty desks. I walked home; I had no social presence on the bus or on the pick-up sidewalk. Every day the other kids watched me disappear into the distance as one of the tiny handful of walkers¡ªand the best days were when I got to sneak out, a minute and a half ahead of the rest of the class, and disappear behind the tree line before anyone got to notice I was gone. Before anyone got to watch me go, back facing them, deaf to the comments and ignorant to the stares. That little twinge of anxiety as I walked, each step wider than before, trying to get past the big oaks before I heard that door open again behind me.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    And the relief when I did, and the fear when I didn¡¯t.

    So if Benji chose to not see me over the alternative, that was okay with me. It was better than Ava¡¯s thinly veiled disdain, anyway.

    But, I supposed, that mindset had to survive two forty-minute car rides.

    0             0             0

    The ¡°weird hippie cult¡± was called the City-Nature Harmony Coalition. The name sounded very official. If I wasn¡¯t told they were a ¡°weird hippie cult¡± I would¡¯ve believed they were an official department of the City of Schenectady.

    Near as I could tell from the documentation on the case I found on the nightstand I shared with Bell¡ªas if she was ever there to share it with me¡ªthe City-Nature Harmony Coalition was a nearly microscopic organization devoted to the ¡°re-greening¡± of the City of Schenectady, which I suppose implied that it was ever green in the first place.

    Maybe they meant before there was anything there at all, and that place was untouched forest.

    They weren¡¯t doing open recruitment yet, but they had their tendrils into the magical heart of Schenectady and Albany, scouting for interested nature-keys to help them in their endeavors. They really did seem harmless¡ªthey acknowledged, in their official flyers, that there was an upper limit to the extremity they could reach with their actions while still having a functional city. They were looking for a middle-ground between nature and human creation.

    It sounded nice. I¡¯d throw them a dollar.

    I suppose the peacefulness of the whole ordeal was why Benji¡¯s rhetoric on the matter was more ¡°knock it off or be more subtle¡± and not ¡°stop or we¡¯ll slaughter you in a way where nobody will ever find your corpses.¡±

    I was reading through those papers over a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. Sometime in the last month and a half, I¡¯d developed a coffee habit. It was better than an alcohol habit, I supposed, but Prochazka viewed both as equal spiritual weaknesses, so I tried not to drink any in front of him. Coffee made me bold; it helped me ignore the stares. Helped me focus my own head on a task in front of me. For a little while I was the very image of the prime American homeowner in the golden days, sitting at my family¡¯s kitchen table with a coffee and a newspaper, king of the house, master of my two-point-five children and all else within the confines of my white picket fence.

    Or, at least, I felt like that.

    Nobody came to bother me as I scanned through the papers¡ªnot even Benji, who I¡¯d seen out of the corner of my eye go up to the counter and get some coffee about fifteen minutes before. He didn¡¯t see me¡ªor maybe he chose not to¡ªand walked right back out, briskly as he came.

    But I didn¡¯t want to be bothered anyway, so it was all fine.

    There wasn¡¯t a huge amount to look through in the files. Generally speaking, these people were clean. None of them had any criminal records worthy of note¡ªone of them had been slapped on the wrist for eco-propaganda graffiti, as if that was something worth taking someone into the station for.

    I wasn¡¯t sure what ¡°eco-propaganda graffiti¡± even was, really.

    0             0             0

    Five o¡¯clock rolled around, and Benji made an appearance in the room to fetch me¡ªand by ¡°an appearance¡± I mean barely even that¡ªhe walked inside, looked and pointed at me, put that finger over his shoulder, and we left.

    No words exchanged. A most efficient encounter.

    We left the old factory and came out into the afternoon sun. It was warm for October¡ªpushing seventy¡ªbut the breeze was just a little bit too cold for it to be completely comfortable.

    In the circle of pavement in front of the sprawling factory campus was a small tan sedan, a mid-2000s Camry that was completely indistinguishable from any other car on the road. I could almost remember days in my past where every car on the road was some variation of a tan Camry from 2005 or 2006. It was the perfect getaway car. Anyone who stepped into a Camry from around that time may as well be stepping out of the timeline through a hole in the universe. They would cease to exist and nobody would ever know.

    The car was just sitting there, unlocked and running. That all seemed very unsafe to me, but I didn¡¯t want to speak to someone so intentionally quiet.

    Benji got in the driver¡¯s seat and I put myself in the passenger side and he pulls out of the driveway.

    0             0             0

    I had a lot of bunch of time to stare out the window and daydream, something I hadn¡¯t done in quite a while.

    In a different life, I think I would¡¯ve liked to be a painter. I¡¯ve always been passable with my hands, and it seemed to be the closest thing to a nexus of the things I was good at as anything else¡ªmy near obsessive observational skills, my eye for random details that mean nothing to anyone else. A job where I could be alone with colors and nobody ever has to see how my internal clock misses ticks.

    And my key¡ª

    I could make frozen landscapes, in small scale, that nobody could ever dream of. In the level of detail that can only come from close observation. And maybe one day, when having magic won¡¯t be something to be ashamed of, I could bring my worlds to life¡ªshift into sculpture, maybe, and show the world the landscapes I had to pretend were fake for so long.

    Developments in my life have made this dream impossible. It¡¯s something I¡¯ll never have¡ªanother one in the list.

    But I remember dreaming of it then.

    Thinking of it now doesn¡¯t make me sad, like one might expect¡ªinstead, it makes me frustrated: I was a victim of a force beyond my control, and I had sworn when I was twelve years old to never, ever be a helpless victim ever again.

    It turns out that when you truly are a helpless victim, there isn¡¯t anything you can do about it¡ªotherwise, you¡¯re just a victim, not a helpless one. Being a helpless victim isn¡¯t shameful¡ªbut subtract that one word and now it is. Maybe when you don¡¯t have magic, one doesn¡¯t imply the other¡ªbut when you do, there¡¯s a definite stigma around not fighting your way out of things you theoretically, if the stars aligned, had a chance at escaping.

    Being a helpless victim isn¡¯t shameful, because it¡¯s not your fault, but it is frustrating. And when there was something you could do about it, it¡¯s shameful, but it¡¯s not as frustrating.

    What happened to me is something nobody had anticipated, and nobody could cure. It simply trudged its way through my life until its conclusion. It simply was. It exerted its will over me and there was nothing at all I, or Cygnus, or Sophia could do about it.

    In those days I was in a fast car hurtling towards oblivion and all I could do was stare out the window and daydream.

    Dead on board. No outs. Handshake, part ways.

    Oh well.

    0             0             0

    We did not speak until we were twenty minutes down the road. Benji had done a great job of ignoring me, even as I gently twiddled the knobs for the air conditioning. Benji was the sort of person who liked his car frigid, and I was not.

    That, it turned out, was enough to break the ice. ¡°Stop messing with my AC,¡± he said.

    My hand, currently on the knob, shot back to my side. ¡°Sorry,¡± I mumbled.

    I wanted to say it was cold in there, but it seemed like a bad time.

    ¡°God,¡± Benji said. It was more of a groan than anything else. ¡°I¡¯m fucking stupid.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a literal zero percent chance bringing you along makes this any better. I¡¯m trying to play the good cop here. I don¡¯t actually care what these idiots get up to as long as they keep it quiet, but if I¡¯m threatening them with a twelve-year-old I lose both pedestals. Now I¡¯m strong-arming them into obeying and I¡¯m using a goddamn child to do it.¡±

    He touched his head to the steering wheel briefly¡ªwhile going eighty on the highway, which made me twitch¡ªand said, ¡°Look. Change of plans. I¡¯m gonna park at the Days Inn. I want you to follow me in, but at a large distance. Don¡¯t let any of the wackos see you. I¡¯m¡ªprobably just wasting your time today. I¡¯m not gonna call you over unless things go south. Okay?¡±

    My time wasn¡¯t exactly being wasted, since I had no plans anyway, but I shrugged and said, ¡°Okay,¡± anyway.

    ¡°And if I do need you¡ª¡± He hesitated. ¡°Hopefully I won¡¯t, but if I do, just do something to startle them. Nothing dangerous. Big enough to make us look stronger than them, but not enough to make us look evil. Okay? Just a little nudge.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said.

    ¡°Good,¡± Benji replied.

    His tone was hard.

    That was all we said until we got to the inn.

 9 - The Bad People (2)

    There was a sign that said we could only park there if we were guests, but Benji ignored that, mumbling ¡°if they want to tow this fucking thing, go ahead.¡±

    He pulled the lot and drove around to the back of the inn. There wasn¡¯t anyone outside, and the curtains were drawn in most of the windows. We were as alone and invisible as we were going to get.

    Benji eased the sedan into a spot near the woods and said, ¡°There¡¯s a path to the left. Keep a good distance behind me, okay?¡±

    Schenectady was a sad sort of place. It reminded me a lot of the place I grew up in, which meant that I automatically disliked it. Then again, it made sense that it would do that¡ªthe towns and cities around here were all kind of the same, and my hometown was only forty minutes down the highway.

    I wondered if people over there were still looking for me. Nobody seemed to be trying all that hard. My disappearance didn¡¯t even make the news.

    I decided I didn¡¯t like Schenectady within a couple minutes of pulling into the city limits. There just wasn¡¯t anything there. Nothing was clean enough or new enough to inspire anything¡ªit all had that vaguely dirty, vaguely old look that everything in upstate New York hard¡ªa veneer of slowly fading prominence that no amount of high-quality delis and pizza shops could peel away.

    It wasn¡¯t as bad as Syracuse, but it was still unpleasant. It was the sort of place where, by an unseen power of the city, it was literally impossible to be interesting.

    I made a mental note to try and never end up there again.

    Vale Park, on the other hand, was nice enough¡ªat least, judging from the maps Benji gave me. A strange elongated patch of woods in the middle of an extended suburb. There was a thin puddle that passed as a pond through the center, with a small bridge over it that I assumed was where we were meeting.

    I followed him into the woods at twenty paces back, following his trail like it left an invisible red line. Without entirely meaning to, I was copying his trail exactly¡ªeven when he doubled back or took an inefficient route around a log, I did the same. The sun was gone from overhead and the shadows were long and heavy¡ªbut I felt the pond, somewhere beyond the trees, and I knew that I was invincible here.

    I wondered how much of the pond I could displace at once. I hadn¡¯t yet gotten a chance to flex the bulk of my power¡ªto date I¡¯d only moved small amounts of water in fast, precise, or both ways. I had yet to dump a tsunami on someone, and I was really aching for a chance to do that.

    Benji had told me this wasn¡¯t going to be the time, though, so I quelled the ache with a quick pondering on what I actually planned to do to spook these people. How does one go about scaring cultists? They¡¯re already cornering the market on creepy. This seemed like as good a time to dump a tsunami on someone as any, but I wasn¡¯t about to disobey a direct order.

    I decided to think about it more once I saw the cultists themselves. I still, despite the provided literature, didn¡¯t really know what they were about.

    I was expecting the cultists to be black-robed, with lanterns. Singing prayers to some unknowable, unfathomable evil. ?The literature I¡¯d read didn¡¯t really paint them that way, but the stereotypical image of a cultist was stronger than the facts.

    But, as Benji left the path for a clearing in the woods, I caught my first glance of them. I kept myself to a shadow, out of sight if you weren¡¯t looking for me, and I saw the people then. They really did look like regular folks. Benji went up to the one who was out from the group¡ªand by ¡°group¡± I mean five other people¡ªand said, ¡°Hey, Walt.¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± this Walt character replied.

    Walt wore a dusty flannel and black jeans with a white skullcap he¡¯d embroidered some green lines into. All the members there had that white-and-green cap. I sort of liked it¡ªa cult outfit small enough to fit in your pocket when you had to pretend to be a normal person. Highly portable and very practical.

    I had no idea how old Walt was. Guessing was sort of a waste of time, given the little glint of silver around his neck that I assumed was a nature key. He looked around twenty-four, but he could¡¯ve been eighty, and considering his name I was more inclined to believe the latter.

    I suppose some people just don¡¯t get any stronger.

    Walt regarded Benji with a tight smile that he was just putting on¡ªeven I could see that much.

    Their voices were quiet, but I could still hear the two of them fine with a bit of straining. ¡°Look, man, you¡¯ve gotta stop meeting during the park¡¯s open hours. Come here at night and you¡¯re fine,¡± Benji said.

    ¡°Our rituals require we meet at sunset,¡± Walt said. Clearly annoyed that he was being subjected to this song and dance again. ¡°I¡¯ve told you already.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Benji said. ¡°And I¡¯m giving you every chance to settle this quietly. I don¡¯t care what you guys are doing as long as it¡¯s quiet. Frankly, this place kind of blows, so I support you sprucing it up.¡± He chuckled a bit. ¡°Pun not intended. Um¡ªso just be quiet, okay? And make sure nobody sees you.¡±

    ¡°We do a good job of that already,¡± Walt said. ¡°Only the trusted few can come with me to this circle.¡±

    ¡°And they¡¯re the only ones who get to see that your little key necklace isn¡¯t just jewelry.¡±

    Walt nodded.

    ¡°Cool. Now can you just show them this after nine?¡±

    Walt fell quiet for a second. ¡°Why are you bothering us?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, why? If people find out about you guys¡ªand what you can actually do¡ªbad shit happens.¡±

    ¡°Define bad.¡±

    Benji¡¯s light demeanor faded. ¡°Look, pal, you¡¯re on thin ice here. I¡¯m going to pretend you didn¡¯t say that, because I honestly believe you guys are harmless and you¡¯re doing a pretty good thing. I think you understand as well as I do why it¡¯s bad for people to know about magic. Your organization is designed to keep as few people from knowing that you¡¯re actually the real deal as possible, which I¡ªhonestly¡ªrespect a lot. It¡¯s humble of you. I¡¯m just asking that you stick to the plan a little tighter. That¡¯s all. Sunset, there¡¯s still people walking around this park sometimes. When it¡¯s dark, there¡¯s nobody here. Just do this when it¡¯s dark. You don¡¯t want to be involved in a memory cleanse, man. We have to outsource that shit and it¡¯s super expensive.¡±

    One of the people in the group went to speak¡ªsome noise that I guess counted as the start of a word came out of them¡ªand Walt put up a hand to silence them. ¡°What I don¡¯t understand,¡± Walt started, slowly, clasping his hands together without breaking eye contact. ¡°Is why you keep harassing us even though we¡¯ve: A, done nothing wrong; B, got a goal you agree with; and C, never been caught.¡±

    Benji gritted his teeth for half a second, then relaxed. It was just a tensing of his jaw, but I knew the movement when I saw it. Frustration at a brick wall. I was very familiar. ¡°I know you¡¯re kind of an old timer, but people just record weird stuff now,¡± he said, calmed. Benji planted his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets. ¡°Most of the time it gets lost in the bowels of the internet and gets relegated to the ramblings of crazy people, but that¡¯s just the luck of public perception on our side. If anyone ever found out that the conspiracy nuts, just this once, were actually right, the aforementioned bad shit happens. Now, I¡¯m not an idiot. I know we¡¯re not gonna be able to keep this secret forever. It¡¯s just not going to happen. Something¡¯s gonna slip, and when it happens, it happens. But I¡¯m gonna do everything I can to keep this down because I am in a position to let this fa?ade go on just a bit longer, and if you think this doesn¡¯t end in all of us getting hunted down and slaughtered by the full might of the United States Armed Forces, then you have your head so far up your own ass you can lick your own uvula.¡±

    ¡°I like to believe we can live in harmony,¡± Walt said, quietly.

    ¡°I¡¯ve always been camp Magneto,¡± Benji shrugged. ¡°I just can¡¯t see this ending any other way.¡±

    Walt glanced back at the assembled five for a second. They were exchanging quick looks at each other and Walt, avoiding Benji¡¯s eyes. Shifting in place, hands in their pockets.

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s your problem,¡± Walt replied. ¡°In the City-Nature Harmony Coalition, we believe that things can coexist. I¡¯m not an idiot either, Ben.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Benji.¡±

    ¡°Benji, sure. I¡¯m not dumb, either. I know it¡¯s going to be hard. But if we don¡¯t believe things can get better, what do we have? The world lives through people who think the future can be brighter. Saying it can¡¯t be done is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

    Walt paused. ¡°You¡¯re very intent on this. Don¡¯t you have anything better to do?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Benji said. ¡°Lots.¡±

    ¡°Then why¡ª¡±

    ¡°Because you f¡ª¡±

    Hesitation. A clenched fist loosened.

    ¡°You people are going to get us all killed if you¡¯re not careful.¡±

    I could only see the corners of Benji¡¯s mouth, but even through the dwindling light I could see it twitch upward. ¡°Let me tell you¡ªlet me spell this out in plain terms¡ªwhat happens if magic is confirmed to be real. The United States declares martial law. Basically every nation does. The military hires teams of people to comb through every video that appears to have someone performing magic in them, because they do exist. Some of those videos are fake. They¡¯re made by people practicing CGI or whatever. It doesn¡¯t matter, the military won¡¯t take the risk. Everyone who is performing magic or appears to be will be shot on sight. Some of those people don¡¯t have keys. You know what happens to magical people who don¡¯t have keys?¡±

    Walt was silent.

    ¡°They explode, Walt. Like bombs. You know that a third of the bombings in the U.S. are keyless magicals dying? That¡¯s what happens. The keys literally keep our magic in check. The more powerful these people are, the bigger the explosion when they trip down some stairs or stub their toe too hard and their magic gets more agitated than their flesh can handle. And there¡¯s jack shit anyone can do about it. So innocent people will die on two sides. People with families will die. Innocent people will¡ªliterally¡ªbe slaughtered in the streets. Children, Walt.¡±

    ¡°Kids don¡¯t get keys,¡± Walt said.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    I had bad news for him, but I stayed put.

    ¡°You think the military knows that?¡± Benji replied.

    Walt was unmoved. ¡°Benji, this is all fine to muse about, but if you think the military doesn¡¯t already know about us, you¡¯re being horribly na?ve. If your plan was the truth, we¡¯d all be dead already.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not all dead because the public doesn¡¯t know. The military doesn¡¯t care until Joe down the street hears about it. News of us hits the reputable outlets¡ªwe¡¯re all dead. Hug your kids, kiss your wife, you¡¯re getting shot in the fucking street. You think the people in charge of keeping this country safe care if one guy with a nature key is just growing plants in a city? Running a fucking farm stand that never seems to run out of produce? Walt, you¡¯re the good one. Out there¡ª¡± Benji thrust a hand outward, gesturing to the city obscured by the trees. ¡°Out there are the bad people. You think most people with keys are just trying to get by, but they¡¯re not. It¡¯s half-and-half. Half of them just want to pretend magic isn¡¯t real and they want to go about their life. They¡¯re gonna get gunned down on their way home from the grocery store. Half of them want to get revenge on someone. You know as well as I do that well-adjusted people don¡¯t get keys.

    Benji paused. Walt, for half a second, looked down. ¡°The people who get keys are angry, vitriolic, hateful people. They get keys because they, in one way or another, need one. They have a problem only magic can solve. They want to kill. They want to hurt. And if you think the telepath beset by army men with guns isn¡¯t going to rot the minds of everyone in a quarter-mile radius on their way out, then no, Walt, I¡¯m not the na?ve one¡ªyou are.¡±

    Walt opened his mouth to speak, but Benji cut him off. ¡°Shut up. I¡¯m not done. You listen.¡±

    Walt stopped.

    ¡°You want to know why I¡¯ve been here six times? The truth is that I have way, way more important things to do than this. I¡¯ve got a stack of paperwork to attend to that¡¯s up to my fucking knees. I¡¯ve got a dozen other shitheads way more violent than you running around that I¡¯ve got to smack some sense into. The reason I waste so much time trying to talk sense into you is because you¡¯re the good people. Your goal is good, your people are good. You¡¯re a good person. The idiots I deal with on a daily basis are just as likely to get themselves killed than they are to do anything actually dangerous. Most of the area I patrol is rural garbage land. Half of the punks I have to discipline couldn¡¯t find a decent person to hurt for a mile around. You¡¯re the only one in a real place with a real goal and a real thing going on. You¡¯re the only good one, but you¡¯re the only one that I actually worry about blowing this whole thing for all of us.

    ¡°You wanna know something, Walt?¡± Benji asked, the air of power around him. He was on a roll; nothing could stop him. He was invincible. He looked Walt dead in the eye and I shivered in the damp warmth of the woods. ¡°I lied. I am the bad people. The unit I run is the unit Jan Prochazka sends out when negotiation fails. The people I command are the ones who go out and end things when people refuse to be reasonable. I am asking you to do something very simple. I want you to do that thing so we can all be happy. You are refusing to be reasonable. You want to know what my boss said when you refused to scoot your little prayer session back a few hours? He told me to kill you. You want to know what he said when I came to him after the fourth time? He told me to kill you, and one of your little circle at random; just ¡°pick whichever one whose face I like the least.¡± Which, for reference, would be you.¡± Benji pointed at a woman with saggy eyes and an unfortunately long chin in the group. ¡°You want to know what he said after the fifth time?¡±

    Benji waited for Walt¡¯s response; which took a long time since Walt wasn¡¯t sure Benji was done.

    ¡°What, Benji? What did he say?¡± Walt replied, in an even tone. I personally felt like Benji was being mocked; but he didn¡¯t seem to feel that way, or maybe he just didn¡¯t care.

    Benji stuffed a smirk. ¡°He told me to pretend that I was going to just talk to you guys again, and then just kill you all instead. Bury your corpses so far underground that not even the dogs can find them.¡±

    And Benji¡¯s head swiveled back towards me.

    And then he closed his eyes, and he turned back to Walt.

    ¡°But I¡¯m not going to do that, Walt. Even though I¡¯m pissed you¡¯ve wasted this much of my time. Even though I¡¯m pissed that I put all this effort into trying to be nice to you, trying to be reasonable with your whole operation, because I think you¡¯re doing a good thing. Instead, I¡¯m going to do something adjacent. I¡¯m going to show you want happens when you¡¯re not reasonable.¡±

    He snapped his fingers.

    I started walking forward. I¡¯d blinked and paces had gone by. Somewhere deep in my head was a plan I did not conceive of.

    I knew instinctively what it was I wanted to do.

    ¡°And for what it¡¯s worth,¡± Benji said, as I approached from the darkness, ¡°kids can, in fact, get keys.¡±

    Walt¡¯s eyes warmed, and just as suddenly froze over as I came into the clearing. A child. I was familiar with this story. I knew how it ended.

    I glanced at Benji and he nodded.

    I closed my eyes and stretched my consciousness over every plant in the ring around the clearing. If I couldn¡¯t drop a tsunami on someone¡¯s head like I¡¯d always imagined I would, I could at least do this.

    Into each leaf I dug in the claws of my perception¡ªI felt them bob in the light wind, their moisture and their veins blue and cool in my mind.

    And from each leaf I pulled.

    I opened my eyes and watched what I had set in motion, and what I was maintaining.

    A fine mist was rising in the clearing¡ªup and sideways from every leaf; from the grass under our feet to the ferns around to the trees themselves. I collected it all into a huge ball hovering over us. Walt spun around, eyes flickering from tree to tree as they shriveled and browned in front of him. The grass became hard and yellow, and all around us, everything died.

    He stepped back, head turned up. Hands shaking at his sides.

    The trees around us cracked and snapped as the last drops of water were sucked clean from them, and the ball of water overhead was maybe fifteen feet wide.

    I let it out slowly¡ªletting it pour down, but only on him; a little column of water pouring down on a circular area maybe two feet wide. Walt just stood there and took it, getting drenched underneath a tiny waterfall.

    And once that was done, I did one more.

    From behind him I picked a person at random. I didn¡¯t know how exactly I was going to do it¡ªbut I knew the feeling, ?and I knew the intent, and often times the specifics could be obfuscated if those two things were strong enough.

    From the depths of her throat I grabbed every ounce of moisture I could find.

    She buckled over, coughed a deep, dry cough¡ªa hateful hacking noise that scattered a bird somewhere. It sounded like a truck backfiring.

    She tried to pick herself up but could not. Her eyes were bloodshot and red¡ªand from her mouth rose the same mist that came from the plants.

    Walt turned to her and saw what was happening, and he shouted her name. She took a twitching step forward and collapsed to the ground. Skin cracked and wrinkled. Split in parts.

    Thick blood leaking out of her mouth like drool.

    Then I let go.

    Walt ran to her side, took her hand, asked her if she was okay. Her throat was a sheet of sandpaper. She could not speak.

    Again, she coughed¡ªlike a balloon popping¡ªand a couple droplets of blood splattered onto the yellowed grass.

    Walt turned back to Benji, who locked eye contact with him again. ¡°You will have services late enough in the night to be sure that nobody will see you.¡±

    Walt glanced at the rest of his group¡ªall standing, all frozen.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. Small.

    ¡°If anyone sees you, you will report it to me so I can take care of it.¡±

    Benji fished a card out of his pocket and tossed it sideways at Walt¡ªit got caught in the wind and landed about halfway between the two.

    Walt eyed the card and didn¡¯t move. ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°And we will never speak of this again. Okay?¡±

    Walt looked Benji in the eye. In Walt¡¯s eyes was a cold fear that I had only seen briefly before.

    Job well done.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Walt said, quietly.

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Benji snapped his fingers at me and pointed vaguely at where we¡¯d parked the car.

    I turned and followed him without a word.

    0             0             0

    I walked back to the car with my head held high. I scared the bejesus out of them¡ªjust like I was supposed to. Job well done, everyone¡¯s happy, so on, so forth.

    Walking in a straight line was tough, though. Once the adrenaline wore off, I found that I was woozier than I thought I was, and it was difficult to see anything beyond a couple feet in front of me.

    But I did a great job, so it didn¡¯t matter. Exhausted, sure, but it was all fine.

    I was glowing.

    We got into the car and Benji started it without a word.

    He pulled out of the Days Inn and we started back towards the highway.

    As we drove, I slowly became uncomfortable. Benji refused to look anywhere but directly in front of him. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, and he drove fast enough to get us vaporized if we crashed.

    I started counting the lamps on the highway, the signs illuminated by our headlights.

    About twenty minutes in, the silence became unbearable. I had to say something¡ªI needed to gauge what Benji was feeling. He was mad about something but I had no idea what it was. I did a perfectly good job as far as I was concerned¡ªso maybe he was just annoyed that it came to what it did.

    I figured a question unrelated to the case we¡¯d just closed would be good. And maybe I could kill two birds with one stone if I asked something about a certain someone, so I did.

    ¡°Where did Bell come from?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you?¡± Benji snapped.

    I blinked.

    ¡°What the fuck was that, Erika? I told you¡ªI fucking told you¡ªjust scare them. Those are the good people! They didn¡¯t do anything! The tree shriveling and the waterfall was great¡ªthat was perfect¡ªand then you went and ruined it by killing that poor woman in what has got to be one of the most brutal ways to die I¡¯ve seen in my career, and I¡¯ve seen someone get shredded by dust. Just¡ªflesh slurry, like that.¡±

    He snapped his fingers and I jolted.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    I had nothing to say.

    ¡°No. Listen to me. I don¡¯t know what the fuck went through your head where you thought that was a good idea, but¡­Jesus Christ.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill her,¡± I whispered.

    My throat as dry as hers; paralyzed in the seat.

    ¡°Yes, you fucking did!¡± Benji paused, for half a second. ¡°If that woman doesn¡¯t get a saline I.V in negative five minutes she¡¯ll be dead before the ambulance siren even turns on. You sucked so much water out of her that the texture of her blood was wrong! How does someone even do that?¡±

    Benji paused. Speedometer read ninety-seven. He eased onto the brakes and let the car drift into the breakdown lane.

    Slowed to a stop, threw on the hazards, and put his head between his hands on the steering wheel.

    ¡°Just once,¡± he said, to his knees. ¡°Just fucking once I wanted to solve one of these cases without just killing everyone. I just wanted to keep the body count to zero for one fucking case. I have no idea what crossed my mind where I thought it would be a good idea to take the one person I didn¡¯t know I could trust to follow a simple order along for the last talk. All I had to do was wait until tomorrow. One day. I don¡¯t know what the hell I was thinking. Cygnus could¡¯ve done it easy. Yoru and Ava are both fucking psycho but at least they would¡¯ve understood what I was asking. Even Bell would¡¯ve been subtle enough. But you had to go and ruin what would¡¯ve been a perfect ending by murdering someone.

    ¡°You know how long I¡¯ve been pushing Prochazka off my back on this case? It¡¯s been three weeks of dealing with the same shit. Every time he tells me to just grab a bruiser and slaughter them. He doesn¡¯t give a shit. Every time I tell him to fuck off and that I¡¯ll do it my own way. And look¡ªlook at this. That woman is fucked, Erika. She either dies, or she lives with severe brain damage. That wasn¡¯t necessary. That was murder.¡±

    He picked up his head and turned to me. I was aware of it in my peripheral vision.

    ¡°Are you even listening to me?¡± he shouted.

    I squeezed my eyes shut tight. It was okay. I wasn¡¯t there.

    For a moment Benji just stared at me¡ªeyes shut tight, knuckles white around the hem of my shirt, breathing¡ªin and out.

    He paused. I don¡¯t know what made him stop. My eyes were closed; I¡¯ll never know.

    But maybe he realized he was afraid of me.

    My best guess, without seeing him: He put his hands on the top of the steering wheel, maybe in a loose triangle, sitting upright and staring at the stretch of road in front of him. Watching the stars rise over the big green highway overhead sign that marked where the next exit was.

    Cars went past us like bullets.

    ¡°I wish Bell was a telepath,¡± Benji said, slowly. ¡°Or we had a telepath somewhere on our payroll. I wish we had one so I could figure out what exactly it is you¡¯re thinking about. If it¡¯s anything. Because¡ªfuck me¡ªI¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s nothing at all, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    In.

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡ª¡±

    He faltered.

    Out.

    ¡°What does Prochazka see in you? You¡¯re twelve fucking years old and have a key for some reason, you¡¯re the most powerful water key I¡¯ve ever seen, and you¡¯re barely functional. What is in there that made him overrule me? It can¡¯t be that you¡¯re just an insanely efficient bruiser that¡¯s easy to manipulate. It can¡¯t be just that. Prochazka doesn¡¯t work that way. He must see something else in you, but¡ªfuck, I¡¯ve got no idea. Beats the hell out of me.¡±

    In.

    Benji sighed. ¡°Fuck. Just¡ªfuck. I don¡¯t know. Fuck it.¡±

    He turned the car back on.

    ¡°I want to go home.¡±

    Out.

    0             0             0

    The next day the paralysis was gone, like rain in the sun. It rolled off me as it always did. In the morning I was a new human, and the broken shell Benji accidentally got to see was gone. It no longer existed. The person that arose that morning was a version of Erika never before seen, brand-new, one who knew nothing of last night¡¯s failure, and would not speak of it unless it was dug out of her, specifically, with surgical instruments and cold chisels.

    I met with Prochazka in his office afterward to talk about what we did.

    I said to him, ¡°Benji hates me.¡±

    Prochazka replied, ¡°That¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t.¡±

    I shrugged and said nothing.

    I did not understand.

 10 - The Singularity

    {October 20}

    I left that meeting and felt nothing. This new Erika did not have opinions about what happened last night. She had a list of facts memorized, and nothing more. She could recite those facts at a moment¡¯s notice, rattle them off like a terminal call, but if you asked her for an opinion on them, she¡¯d throw up her hands and shrug.

    This new Erika wanted to talk to Cygnus, the only person at the Radiant who appeared to have an interest in actually understanding her. Nothing made good sense but Cygnus¡ªhe was always perfectly clear. And when he wasn¡¯t, he said so. He had a clear mission in mind and everything he did seemed to follow some kind of internal chart.

    I wondered how he did it¡ªhow he had the conviction to be so consistent in the face of a warping, shaking world full of variable and inconsistent people.

    I came to him when he was in the main room, sipping his second mug of coffee like he always was at about noon. He said hello, gestured to the coffee pot and offered me some. I poured the rest and set to work putting another pot on.

    ¡°It was all a ruse,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I duped you into making more coffee. Got ¡®em.¡±

    As I had come to expect from him.

    I shrugged, took my own mug. The convenient thing about having a water key is that you never have to wait for drinks to cool. As long as you¡¯re not drinking pure mercury or something with no water content, you can just freeze bits of it to make your own ice cubes. It¡¯s harder than it looks, though.

    Fun fact about water keys: slinging water around like you see in cartoons is actually one of the easier things. Every water key can do that. The thing is doing it fast enough to matter, having a good grasp of ice formation, and having impeccable control. Ava told me, a while after we broke into that trafficking ring, that she¡¯d never seen a water key pick a lock before. It didn¡¯t occur to her that it was possible, but after seeing me do it she wondered why other water keys hadn¡¯t thought of it.

    I told her that it was harder than it looked, and she nodded like that was the most sagely advice she¡¯d ever heard.

    ¡°Harder than it looks¡± seemed to be my catchphrase, whether I wanted it to be or not.

    Maybe she was high that day. I wasn¡¯t supposed to know this, but she grew her own weed near some lonely window on the top floor of the building. It was the couple¡¯s private stash, but secrets in Unit 6 tended to live and die with Cygnus, who knew everything about everyone, somehow, and he told me.

    He¡¯d offered to get me some, but I declined. One vice was plenty for me, and smoking is bad for you. My dad smoked a pack a day, and his voice sounded like an engine.

    I cooled my coffee to a drinkable temperature¡ªread: lukewarm at best; I could burn my tongue opening my mouth in the summertime if I wasn¡¯t careful¡ªand asked Cygnus this new Erika¡¯s burning question: ¡°How do you do it?¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°Do what?¡± he asked, legs crossed at the knee in the chair he was in. He sipped his coffee with one hand, the other laying limp on the big table, fingers feebly tapping some rhythm I couldn¡¯t identify.

    ¡°Stay so consistent,¡± I asked him.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    I frowned. It was harder to put into words than I thought. ¡°Everything you do¡ªyou¡¯re always the same,¡± I said. ¡°You¡ªum¡ªyou always seem like you¡¯ve got a plan.¡±

    ¡°I do always have a plan,¡± Cygnus said, eyes closed for another dainty sip. ¡°Thanks for noticing.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked him. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±

    He set the mug down on the table.

    ¡°Everything I do, Erika,¡± he said, slowly, ¡°I do for justice.¡±

    ¡°Justice,¡± I repeated.

    ¡°Always justice. See¡ªout there, someone is being wronged. And they¡¯re being wronged in a way they can¡¯t even fathom, because they¡¯re being taken advantage of by someone with magic, and there¡¯s fuckall they can do about it. You follow?¡±

    I nodded. I could listen to Cygnus talk all day.

    ¡°Who is there for that wronged person to go to? Not the police. Not the government. No¡ªthose people can¡¯t do anything for them. Somewhere out there is a child being shadowed by a pedophile, and that child can¡¯t escape because that pedophile is a telepath and always knows what the child is thinking. Who can help that child? Not the police. Not the government.¡±

    Cygnus smiled. ¡°But we can. We know what¡¯s up.¡±

    He took a drink.

    ¡°But all we do is kill,¡± I said. Slowly. I faltered. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s all I¡¯m good for.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see it that way at all,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I see it like this: I¡¯m the man on the ground. People more capable than me, people I trust¡ªthey find the injustices, and they¡¯re gracious enough to allow me the satisfaction of carrying them out. Would I like to scope out my own? Sure, one day. But I know I¡¯m not ready yet. Training to do, things to learn, et cetera.

    ¡°See, Erika¡ªthere¡¯s a lot of bad people out there. Look at what you¡¯ve already done. Three trafficking rings. A serial killer. A domestic violence dispute¡ªyou saved a man¡¯s life, directly. You. Not anyone else. That¡¯s justice. We¡¯re the good guys, Erika. And there¡¯s a lot of bad guys. There¡¯s a lot of work to do.¡±

    He paused for a second. ¡°I was the victim of injustice. I got my key when my papa got shot in our own home. Left me on the street. First thing I did with that key was track down the guy that put a bullet in my dad and return the favor fivefold. Was that violent? Yes. Was it an eye-for-an-eye? Yes. Was it justice? You better fuckin¡¯ believe it was.

    ¡°See¡ªpeople like to think that this sort of justice doesn¡¯t work because they think it¡¯s a slippery slope. They think that killing someone that did you a wrong of the same magnitude makes you equal to the murderer. But that¡¯s not true. See¡ªfirst, before there was a crime, there was a person with intent to do an innocent person wrong. Retaliation for that, therefore, isn¡¯t as bad as the first person¡ªbecause the person you¡¯re killing isn¡¯t innocent. They say this is a slippery slope, but that¡¯s only if you slick it. You know?¡±

    Not really, but I nodded. I got the gist of it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about this a lot,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°Ever since I got my key. And I came to the conclusion that if I live my life in pursuit of justice, forever, then I can do right by my father, by me, and by everyone who was ever wronged by someone who they were powerless against.

    Cygnus paused, for just a half-second. Barely long enough for me to register the hesitation. He finished, slightly more quietly: ¡°I don¡¯t see any other way I could do it.¡±

    ¡°How do you know what¡¯s right?¡± I asked him. ¡°How do you know¡ªwhen it¡¯s not clear. How do you know justice is being served? When both people are¡­are doing questionable, um, questionable things.¡±

    Cygnus took a breath. ¡°This is gonna sound stupid, Erika, I know.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    He said to me: ¡°I just know it by the way it is.¡±

 11 - Lights and Arrows (1)

    {December 23}

    ¡°Nobody¡¯s explained this to you yet, huh,¡± Yoru said.

    We stepped back into the main foyer of the factory, stomping caked snow out of our boots. Ava was down with a bad cold, so I¡¯d gone with Yoru alone; some malcontent Santa was threatening to hurt some kids on Christmas day, and he was being relatively non-subtle about it. Cops figured he was harmless¡ªthey searched his house and found nothing that could be meaningfully used as a weapon. Yoru and I knew that they¡¯d missed one, though¡ªthe silver key around his neck with a sapphire inlaid in it.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t really think we did Christmas around here,¡± I said.

    ¡°Nah, we totally do. Every unit has their own traditions. It¡¯s¡ªpeople in the other units like to pretend we don¡¯t celebrate Christmas because we¡¯re all nuts or we hate Jesus or something, but it¡¯s not like that. I mean¡ªI don¡¯t have an opinion one way or another on the guy, and I¡¯m pretty sure Bell is a practicing Catholic.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°No way.¡±

    ¡°I mean, that¡¯s what I heard, anyway. Info on Bell is hard to come by.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡± All I could do was just shake my head slowly.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I heard,¡± he said, crossing his arms with a little smile. ¡°Take it or leave it. She disappeared in the morning on Christmas day last year and the year before that, and she¡¯s usually gone on Easter and the associated Easter¡­um¡­I don¡¯t know, Ash Wednesday or something. I was a Jew, I don¡¯t know shit about it. Prochazka doesn¡¯t let her actually do the stuff for that, but I think she goes to the services.¡±

    ¡°There is¡­no way that¡¯s true,¡± I said. ¡°No way.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I just repeat the baseless rumors,¡± Yoru said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. ¡°I don¡¯t make them. I¡¯ll admit that this sounds like the kind of thing Bell would make up and spread around about herself because it¡¯s funny, but the actions actually kind of back this one up, so I don¡¯t know.¡±

    We started down the series of halls to the Unit 6 home base. Yoru returned to the matter at hand. ¡°Christmas around here¡ªwell, with us¡ªisn¡¯t a huge holiday, but it¡¯s a good time. It¡¯s one of the only days where Prochazka can ninety-percent promise us we won¡¯t have to do anything unless it¡¯s an emergency, again, except for Bell who¡¯s still on call as long as it¡¯s after services. Or maybe she just does missions when I think she¡¯s at church to trick us into thinking she¡¯s Catholic¡­ah, fuck it, I don¡¯t actually care that much.¡±

    I sort of did, but I didn¡¯t push the point.

    ¡°Anyway, we traditionally don¡¯t get gifts for each other unless they¡¯re a slam dunk. Benji doesn¡¯t really believe in getting people gifts for the sake of getting people gifts, and that¡¯s something we all kind of agree with, so that¡¯s what we do.¡±

    I fell kind of quiet. I was already imagining the worst-case scenario where I never got a gift for my entire tenure here, and we all just sat around watching Yoru and Ava open each other¡¯s mountains of gifts every year.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stress about it,¡± Yoru said. ¡°It¡¯s not a slight if you don¡¯t get anything for anyone. We¡¯re all busy people. But like¡ªRachel had the same problem I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re having, where you¡¯re worrying about never getting anything, right?¡±

    ¡°Rachel?¡±

    ¡°Oh, right. Um¡ªRachel was the old water-key. The one you replaced.¡±

    I nodded. Didn¡¯t have anything to add to that. Didn¡¯t feel anything about it, one way or another.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°I know for a fact Cygnus got you something already. Don¡¯t know if it came in yet or not, but he did.¡±

    I stopped walking, flushed red¡ªmy face suddenly gone hot. Uncomfortable with the juxtaposition of the cold I¡¯d just walked out of.

    Yoru took a few more steps, realized I wasn¡¯t following him anymore, and stopped. He turned back and asked me, ¡°You good?¡±

    I nodded and caught up.

    ¡°Like¡ªto be completely honest, you¡¯re not that hard to shop for. I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s ever gotten anything for Bell and I don¡¯t think Bell¡¯s ever gotten anything for anyone else, so don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re not in that zone.¡±

    I guess what I felt then was relief¡ªbut as for the thing before that, I wasn¡¯t sure.

    I had a strange issue where sometimes, I wanted to be pitied. I don¡¯t really know why, but periodically I imagine myself as even more hopeless, even more useless in noncombat situations, than I actually am. In truth I know I¡¯m relatively capable, and in school I saw a lot of people a lot worse off than me, but every once in a while the idea strikes me that if I was less useful, a bit more of an invalid, then maybe people wouldn¡¯t expect so much of me. Maybe then I could cry or opt out of things I didn¡¯t want to do and people wouldn¡¯t try to tell me to stop or force me to do those things anyway.

    And maybe that life would be better, somehow.

    It¡¯s just a thought I had sometimes, nothing more.

    0             0             0

    The day before Christmas eve¡ªChristmas-eve-eve, if you will¡ªturned out to be one of the few days where Bell was milling around the factory with nothing to do. Days like that were a rarity, to the point where people unaffiliated with Unit 6 would throw passing glances at her as she went by, whispering rumors about her like she was some kind of lingering phantom.

    To be fair, she sort of was. Bell rarely, if ever, talked to anyone outside of Unit 6 or high management (read: only Prochazka), and even then she only talked to Prochazka behind closed doors. She wasn¡¯t the sort of person anyone felt the need to say anything to. There wasn¡¯t a lot I could imagine saying to her that she didn¡¯t already know, and unlike a lot of things I felt, that one seemed applicable to other people too.

    I didn¡¯t recognize her at first when I caught sight of her on my way to the cafeteria for a late dinner. If she didn¡¯t stop to say hello, we would¡¯ve walked right past each other and been none the wiser.

    Bell saw me squinting at her when she waved, and then it hit her. ¡°Oh, right.¡±

    ¡°Bell?¡± I tried. It was my best guess.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she replied. ¡°Guess I settled into something a little different than you last saw me, huh.¡±

    She was an almost completely different person, but once she said hello to me and reminded me who she was, I saw the unifying features that kept her identity true. She¡¯d somehow gained twenty pounds since I last saw her in passing about a week ago and lost about a foot in height. Over a week her hair had doubled in length, to about three inches above her waist.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    That said¡ªit was the same color, and her eyes were still that glazed-over gunmetal, like there was nothing at all back there.

    I guess when you¡¯re a flesh-key, it doesn¡¯t really matter what you look like.

    She looked down at herself. ¡°I hate being short,¡± she said, glancing around. ¡°Excuse me for a second.¡±

    Bell opened a door next to her and slid into the room behind it¡ªI think it was a broom closet¡ªand after about half a minute she re-emerged as the person that¡¯d snuck up on me that time when I was alone in the barracks trying to watch TV: six-plus-feet tall, barely thicker than a wire, hair down to just past her neck. This is where the drawstring sweatpants came in handy, although they were now about six inches too short, exposing ankles so thin I could almost see the contours of the joint. Her shirt, also, was far too wide and far too short for her upper body.

    I paused, remembering how scared I was back then when she''d snuck up on me, but now Bell was lightly smiling¡ªthe most anyone could really get out of her around here¡ªand the feeling dissipated. And, if I¡¯m honest, she looked kind of silly. The whole image was much more menacing when she was wearing something that actually fit.

    ¡°It¡¯s a quick job, but it¡¯ll do,¡± she said, surveying herself. ¡°Not bad for thirty seconds.¡±

    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± I asked, looking at the ajar door she¡¯d emerged from.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Bell asked. ¡°Because I can?¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond. I didn¡¯t really know how to, so I chose to say nothing instead.

    ¡°This is what you usually see me as, right?¡± she asked. After a half seconds¡¯ pause she added: ¡°Actual question. I don¡¯t really remember.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s close enough,¡± I said. ¡°I think.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s my motto.¡±

    Bell glanced at her right hand, her pianist¡¯s fingers, and said, ¡°You know, I think this might be what I look like.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Actually, I mean,¡± Bell said. ¡°What I actually look like.¡±

    ¡°You¡­you don¡¯t know?¡±

    Bell turned back for a second, just to make sure nobody was coming. ¡°I spend a lot of time in a lot of different forms. I don¡¯t feel any particular affinity for any one of them. But this one¡ªthis one feels like me.¡±

    ¡°How can you not remember what you look like?¡± I asked, and immediately regretted it. That seemed like an antagonistic question.

    Bell glanced back again.

    ¡°Tell you what,¡± she said, looking down at me¡ªand I do mean looking down at me. She had nearly a foot, plus maybe a few inches, on me. It was like talking to the birds on a telephone pole. ¡°How about you go and draw a self-portrait, right now. From memory. No mirror. And I¡¯ll tell you how much it looks like you, okay?¡±

    I blinked. ¡°Um¡ª¡±

    ¡°Bet you can¡¯t do it, huh?¡±

    I shook my head.

    ¡°That¡¯s not a slight on you, by the way. Most people can¡¯t do that. Now imagine you¡¯ve just spent a week and a half as a fat man with a triple chin and a Long Island accent who works in a dead-end pizza place in Albany serving fried bullshit to other fat men with triple chins on paper plates slick from the grease in the air. The menu is on a board over the counter and that board is so old it¡¯s got clip-in letters. The menu changes, but the man can¡¯t change the board because his stepladder broke a while ago and he won¡¯t buy another one, and he¡¯d get out of breath trying to reach up and do fine work for that long. The only greens you can find in the whole place are oak leaves the wind kicks in because the man leaves the door open to compensate for the AC being broken¡ªby the way, it¡¯s been broken for ten years, and the man¡¯s too cheap to fix it. He¡¯s got two poor acne-ridden teenage employees who talk shit about him behind his back whenever they go outside on break to smoke.¡±

    She was not about to be interrupted. I wanted to, but I wouldn¡¯t dare.

    Onward: ¡°Imagine you go home to that man¡¯s family, and you pretend to love his daughters. You pretend to love his wife, who¡¯s a fat slob just like he is. You tell his daughters¡ªten and eight¡ªa bedtime story, a new one because you don¡¯t know the one they love the most. You deny them their favorite bedtime story for ten days, and you try to think of a way to weasel what it is out of your wife. You think about how you¡¯re going to try to convince them to stick with soccer even though they both hate it because the one thing you¡¯re most afraid of is that they end up like you and your wife. You think it¡¯s too late for the two of you¡ªboth forty¡ªto start an exercise regimen now; you¡¯re too busy and she won¡¯t do it without support. Erika, I slit that man¡¯s throat in an alley a month ago, and I was that man for ten days, because one of the patrons of his pizza shop was a high-profile mobster looking to branch off in a big way, and this was the closest thing to a benign way in we had on that guy.¡±

    I swallowed. Nobody was coming. We were alone.

    Bell continued. And despite the fervor with which she spoke, her eyes never gleamed, never changed. They were polished rocks. Unmoving.

    ¡°Ask me to draw a self-portrait after I was that guy for a week and a half, and I¡¯d draw you that guy. I¡¯ve been doing this, in one form or another, for ages. I¡¯m lucky I remembered what gender you thought I was, let alone what I looked like at the time. I mean¡ªshit, Erika, I did a pretty damn good job for thirty seconds, don¡¯t you think? Isn¡¯t this the Bell you knew?¡±

    I needed to change the subject. She towered over me, looking down with the same quiet smile, and I was so completely lost as to tone and subtext that I couldn¡¯t begin to review the script to try and figure out what it all meant.

    My simple machinery was overwhelmed.

    I blinked. Tried to reset. ¡°I¡ªI wanted to ask you a question,¡± I said, stumbling through the words. Pushing them through my numb mouth.

    Bell shrugged. ¡°Depends.¡±

    ¡°Are you¡ªare you a, um, are you a practicing Catholic?¡±

    Bell broke into a wide grin and burst out laughing. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was real or fake. If it was fake, it sure was convincing; if it was real, it didn¡¯t sound like she really thought that was funny.

    I was about ready to ball my fists and scream. Making someone feel that stupid without so much as laying down a single attack was an art I would never quite be able to grasp. I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of her. I wanted to, and even then I was still scrambling to find some kind of meaningful conclusion that I could use as a reference to speak to her and be spoken to by her¡ªbut I had nothing. There was nothing.

    And I wasn¡¯t convinced there could ever be anything.

    Bell calmed down and said, ¡°God, Erika, that¡¯s adorable.¡±

    She reached down to tousle my hair, and the second her palm made contact with my head I zapped to attention, every muscle tensed. Electrified.

    Her hand snapped back, and she muttered, ¡°Ooh, bad touch. Got it.¡±

    We stood around silent for a second. Bell looked at the floor, briefly. It didn¡¯t seem like she felt bad. It didn¡¯t really seem like she felt anything.

    I couldn¡¯t tell if she was reflecting on what she¡¯d just done, or if she was just running calculations. Or if she was thinking about the weather. Or if she was thinking about what she¡¯d just ate. Assuming Bell actually ate food, and didn¡¯t get her nutrients through photosynthesis by turning into a plant on sunny days. Assuming flesh-keys could do that. Assuming Bell was alive and needed nutrients at all, and wasn¡¯t just a strikingly well-preserved zombie who died in a freak industrial accident ¡°ages¡± ago, one that involved a lot of radiation and a touch of special magic that existed beyond the confines of keys¡ªsomething wild and alien, unfathomable by mortal man.

    God. I wanted to sit down and ask her for everything she knew. I needed to know.

    Who the hell was she?

    Why was she?

    But instead, I had a story, and I supposed I was going to have to dissect that on my own time. If there was one thing I was good at, it was dissecting a piece of text for every possible trail of meaning. I was always best in English for a reason¡ªreading into things that weren¡¯t there was a personal strong suit. Anxiety weaponized for bonus points in English class.

    What a way to reward personal failure.

    ¡°Sorry about going off like that,¡± Bell said. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be antagonistic. I just¡ªfeel strongly about that. It¡¯s one of the only things, you know?¡±

    That, at least, was relatable. The one graspable thing she¡¯d said.

    ¡°I know,¡± I said.

    ¡°I figured,¡± she replied. ¡°It¡¯s weird not having anything to do. I keep stressing myself out just trying to think of something I¡¯m supposed to be stressed about. And I just keep drawing blanks.¡±

    Her face creased up like she was going to say something. That much I was certain of. Dead certain, one hundred percent¡ªthere was something back there, something in that gaunt face with the paper-thin, paper-white, paper-sharp skin.

    But she didn¡¯t say it, so I¡¯ll never know what it was.

    Instead, she said, ¡°You know, I heard it might be snowing around this time. Might get a white Christmas after all.¡±

    Standing in the middle of the nest of hallways in the depths of the factory¡¯s buildings, we were at least a two- or three-minutes¡¯ walk from a window. We might¡¯ve been underground, honestly¡ªthis place was so mazelike that outside of Prochazka¡¯s office, the cafeteria, and the unit 6 barracks, I had no idea where anything was. I didn¡¯t even know where the infirmary was, really, despite having been there a few times for checkups and whatnot. Someone led me there every time, and every time the path faded out of my memory piecemeal like so many rain-splatters.

    ¡°You wanna go check?¡± she asked.

    I shrugged. That seemed like a good time.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said. I couldn¡¯t find it in my heart to burn this bridge¡ªand, God, I didn¡¯t want to.

    Out of everyone, if I only got to speak to one of them ever again¡ªI knew who I wanted it to be.

    So I took a breath and we were okay again.

 12 - Lights and Arrows (2)

    {December 24}

    I didn¡¯t do anything on the day of Christmas Eve. At one point I tried to think about if I wanted to get anyone anything¡ªspecifically, if I wanted to get Cygnus anything¡ªbut by that time it was too late, and Yoru seemed to be very adamant that it didn¡¯t matter all that much, so I dropped the subject. Everyone kept telling me this wasn¡¯t a big deal, but I was used to that being a coded cover-phrase for the exact opposite, so it took a bit of prodding for me to really get it.

    We played some blackjack that night¡ªwith mild drinking for me and varying levels of sloshed for Cygnus, Ava, Benji, and Yoru¡ªand we were all more or less being merry. For the first time since I¡¯d arrived, everyone was there, and everyone played. Bell went to the effort of putting on a slightly more appealing face, which was unnerving for me but appeared to be par for the course for everyone else. Maybe they were just more used to it than I was.

    Bell didn¡¯t drink.

    I did my best to stay more or less sober so I could stay on top of my dealing game for the two non-regulars. Both of them knew I was the dealer whenever we played, and while Benji clearly thought it was weird, he got over it after a few drinks. Bell saw it and just smiled a little frustrating quiet smile and said nothing.

    God.

    At one point during the night, when Benji was far too many drinks in, he said to me: ¡°Hey, Erika.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    I loved being the dealer. It was a control thing, and nothing more. Being in control of something concrete, something real¡ªeven if that thing was a luck-based casino game¡ªwas a level of validation that I craved and never received. I needed to know I could pilot something other than myself.

    I feel I can be outright about that, given how little else I could control in my life.

    ¡°You¡¯re so fucking good at this,¡± Benji said. Barely on the edge of slurring; the emphasis on ¡°fucking¡± seemed to not be as intentional as he meant.

    I glowed, looked away¡ªand then forced myself to look him in the eyes. I said, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°How did you learn?¡± he asked.

    Normally, I wouldn¡¯t have answered that question. But I watched Yoru hit on soft-sixteen and flip a nine for the fourth time that night and I realized that no matter what I said, it had to go over better than that.

    I said the truth: ¡°My dad taught me when I was nine.¡±

    ¡°Nine?¡±

    I picked up everyone¡¯s cards and started the shoe¡¯s last hand. Not quite at the end, as I was taught, but by my eyeball, the last one before the divider.

    ¡°His friend Dan got sick of having to manage the game every time they played. He knew my dad knew how to deal and he was just being quiet to skirt the responsibility. One night they got into a big argument in the basement, and everyone left the house in a big huff. I was awake then,¡± I paused, realizing I was just telling the whole story, and that everyone had stopped fidgeting with their cards.

    Yoru said, ¡°And?¡±

    I blinked, took hold of the beer on the floor next to me, took a long drink, and continued. I was going to tell this damn story. Nobody was going to remember it anyway. It didn¡¯t matter.

    But it mattered to me, a bit. I wanted to be in control. This was a way to take it.

    A safe way, and no one would really remember.

    That was the thought, anyway. In hindsight, the only person there who was drunk enough to have their memory affected was Benji. Not even Ava, who was pretty hammered by most metrics, was at that point yet.

    ¡°And I went downstairs,¡± I continued, slowly. ¡°To get a drink of water, and also to see what everyone was raising a big fuss about. My dad was there, and he was drunk, and he told me¡ª¡±Erika,¡± he said to me, ¡°Tomorrow, when you get home from school, do you want to learn how to deal blackjack?¡±¡±

    ¡°Honestly,¡± I said, grabbing part of the shoe and absentmindedly bridge-shuffling it. ¡°I didn¡¯t really want to learn how to deal blackjack. I wanted to¡ªand I guess it was just, um, a kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, because this was something I went back and forth on all the time¡ªwhat I did want to do was spend some more time with my dad. I was in a ¡°Dad really does care about me¡± phase, each phase would last maybe two or three weeks, and I wanted to make an effort because it seemed to me like he was making an effort. Obviously, he was just drunk and frustrated that Dan was bailing on him, and if either of us had...if either of us were in a regular state of mind, we¡¯d realize how insane what we were asking of each other was. My dad was asking me, in all seriousness, his nine-year-old daughter, to deal blackjack for his friends on Friday nights. And¡ªI was just going to say okay, because this seemed like the kind of thing I could be good at mechanically, and it would at least give us a good two hours tomorrow where neither of us were thinking about how disabled I was.¡±

    I stopped. There was more to the story¡ªa lot more¡ªbut this was already the most I¡¯d talked in a long time. I doubted anyone on the team had heard me talk this much in one go.

    I put the piece of the shoe down and took my beer off the floor for another sip, for strength.

    This was my chance, I¡¯d realized¡ªif I could make it through this whole story intact, I¡¯d become one of them. I would be a part of the team with no holds¡ªassimilated completely, with no regard to myself. This was a side of me they¡¯d never seen before.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    All I had to do was finish the story. They were hanging on my every word.

    Eyes on me.

    I swallowed.

    ¡°So the next day when I got home from school, I sat down with him¡ªand even though he was really drunk last night, he¡¯d revisited the idea sober and thought it was still good. I knew that before he¡¯d even really said anything, since he¡¯d used some of his tiny amount of vacation time to cut work a few hours early so he could be at the kitchen table when I came home. So he had a tiny shoe there¡ªjust two decks shuffled together, much less than regulation¡ªand he told me, ¡°This is called the shoe,¡± and for some reason nine-year-old me just thought that was the funniest thing in the world. Just¡ªa stack of a hundred and four cards shuffled together, called a shoe. Isn¡¯t that just the funniest thing in the world?¡±

    Nobody else agreed.

    I went on: ¡°So my dad got to see me laugh for the first time in God knows. Maybe he¡¯d forgotten I could. Maybe he didn¡¯t try to. Maybe¡ªGod, I don¡¯t know,¡± I said, trailing off.

    I¡¯d lost my train of thought. ¡°Um...¡±

    ¡°Dad¡¯s teaching you blackjack,¡± Ava said. There was no bitterness there. Maybe she¡¯d drowned it in the alcohol¡ªor maybe she was learning something.

    I was almost there.

    ¡°Right,¡± I replied, even-tone. ¡°We talked about the rules and the strategy, and¡ªwell¡ªI wasn¡¯t struggling in school, really, my grades were fine as much as grades mean anything when you¡¯re nine, so remembering rules and strategies and stuff was easy for me. It all made sense, the¡ªyou know¡ªthe probabilities and the places you stand on terrible ?hands and stuff. Standing on thirteen when the dealer is showing a five, and stuff like that.¡±

    Started shuffling again.

    ¡°We spent the week, that afternoon and some time after dinner, talking about card games. He taught me how to deal hold ¡®em too. He hated five-card so I don¡¯t know that one, but he taught me both of the games he liked. He skipped bowling on Wednesday to teach me how to deal poker. That was the only time he ever did that.

    ¡°I was terrified of actually doing it, though,¡± I went on. ¡°Of being down there with his friends. They were all nice enough people, honestly¡ªa little crass, a little rough, but everyone at the factory was like that. They were all nice enough people, really, but I was still scared because I knew that what I¡¯d be doing was really weird, and I didn¡¯t want them to think less of me. I think they all¡ªum¡ªthey all took pity on me or something, or they took pity on my dad since he¡ªum...¡±

    That wasn¡¯t part of the story, I supposed. I accidentally locked eyes with Bell and decided, spur-of-the-moment, that even with all I was sharing, I could keep my personal opinions on my father to myself. It didn¡¯t matter, really, since I¡¯d never see him again¡ªbut if Bell was allowed to be some strange enigma to everyone at the Radiant, then I could carve out some of that secrecy for myself, too. My dad was functionally dead; maybe actually dead, by now. I was never quite sure if he¡¯d throw a party or hang himself if he woke up one early summer morning and found me gone without a trace.

    Windows open, curtains gently wavering in the breeze. Cars whooshing past outside¡ªbut no Erika, no Erika anywhere.

    Hal Hanover was alone again, and Erika was but an ended nightmare.

    My breath caught and I remembered where I was.

    ¡°On Friday he brought me downstairs,¡± I said, slowly. ¡°Said to Dan, ¡°Look, man¡ªyou''re not gonna have to deal tonight,¡± and when Dan saw me come down in a tiny child-size tux vest¡ªwhich I¡¯d asked for, a sort of costume so I could treat this like some kind of make-believe, and my dad actually got for me, which was...just completely out-of-the-blue¡ªwhen Dan saw me he almost fell out of his chair.¡±

    I snickered a bit. Maybe because I was more drunk than I meant to be now, but in hindsight, his reaction was kind of funny. It was sitcom stuff. The kind of thing that never happens, but you point to and laugh at on TV. In my memory I could almost hear the laugh track¡ªme standing there holding my dad¡¯s hand in a brand-new vest, Dan, Earl, and Davy all sitting around the table staring¡ªDan frozen in disbelief with Earl and Davy exchanging glances and laughing.

    Kid blackjack dealer; a perfect Disney channel spin-off. Two seasons and a TV movie.

    I expected to be embarrassed beyond words. I expected to never speak again.

    My dad squeezed my hand.

    ¡°Dan was never the type to mince words, none of the factory guys were, and he said to my dad: ¡°Good joke, man,¡± and Hal said it wasn¡¯t a joke, it was real. So Dan replied, ¡°this is cute and all, but it¡¯s also kinda fucked up, Hal,¡± and my dad just took my hand again¡ªnot my shoulder¡ªand said, ¡°Look¡ªwe¡¯ve been working on this all week, why don¡¯t we give it a try just for tonight.¡±

    ¡°And if you¡¯re waiting for the punchline,¡± I said, looking at the mix of neutral-to-lightly-horrified faces, ¡°He said after that: ¡°It¡¯s not like she¡¯s gonna drink with us.¡±¡±

    Nobody but Bell and I found that funny. Not funny enough to lose my composure, but enough to snicker to myself again. And the jury was out on whether or not any expression of emotion Bell had was genuine.

    God. I was someone else that night.

    It hurts to recall all of this.

    ¡°Well,¡± I went on. Now I started to shuffle the full shoe, in sections since we had no automatic shuffler, ¡°After that, Earl said, ¡°Well, why not let her try a sip of some of your beer,¡± and my dad said no, and Earl said his son tried beer when he was ten, and I was about that age, right? And my dad said it was different for girls, and Earl said, ¡°Well, who¡¯s wearing the tux here¡ªyou or her?¡± And he burst out laughing, and Davy started laughing too¡ªand once he was done Earl said that the tux looked great on me, and why don¡¯t we give this a try after all. And Dan was still sort of uncomfortable but he went with it. And¡ªwell¡ªI did great. They tested me a little, asking me for advice when we all knew they knew what to do, and I knew all the stuff. And¡ªI don¡¯t know if they were surprised that I could do it or surprised that Hal actually took the time to comprehensively teach me everything. But at the end of the night, Dan asked me if I could do it again the next night.¡±

    I cut each of the shuffled, roughly single-deck sized portions of the shoe in half, rearranged them as randomly as any person can and started shuffling them together again. ¡°We went like that for a few weeks, and then my dad had another bright idea¡ªif I was already dealing the casino games, maybe I could serve the drinks too. He suggested it as a joke, I think¡ªbut I was willing to do basically anything to cash in on this wave of my dad¡¯s attention while it lasted, and this wave was so long I was starting to think it could be forever as long as I didn¡¯t screw it up, so I agreed to it, and he was kind of surprised that I was taking it seriously, but I took everything seriously¡ªeven my table ¡°humor¡± was mostly just saying dumb shit with a straight face, as you guys know.

    I stacked the shuffled shoe sections on top of each other and loaded it back into the holder. Took some cards out and dealt the next hand. ¡°And¡­well, after a while my dad got used to me doing all those things and we stopped seeing each other as people again, but¡­for four or five months there, I think it was the closest we ever got to, um, to him being a dad and me not being a defective.¡±

    Ended up with myself showing a six.

    I looked over at Benji. ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡±

    He blinked. Looked down at the cards in front of him.

    ¡°Um...¡± Benji looked at the cards in front of him like they were an arcane language. He mumbled, ¡°Hit.¡±

    ¡°On sixteen against a six?¡±

    ¡°Fuck it,¡± Benji said. He¡¯d gone glassy-eyed. I wondered if he was feeling ill.

    I gave him a five.

    ¡°He does it again, folks,¡± I said, glancing around. ¡°Anything to say for the cameras?¡±

 13 - Lights and Arrows (3)

    {December 25}

    We¡¯d all returned to cordiality relatively quickly, everyone except Benji, who played a few more hands in silence and then left for his office. We all knew why he was doing that, it couldn¡¯t be more clear¡ªbut as soon as he was gone, Cygnus raised his bottle and said, ¡°Fuck¡®im¡ªain¡¯t we here to have a good time?¡±

    And once he said that, we did. Nobody spoke of my story again. The words were gone, lodged deep enough in everyone¡¯s memory for them to lose the syllables and only feel the meaning.

    They knew where I was from, and that was all they needed to know.

    I somehow dodged being hungover the next morning. Right after my speech that night, Yoru made a point of getting up to drink water, and I realized that it was a good plan for me to do that too, so I¡¯d asked him to get me some and he did.

    That must have saved my life.

    On Christmas morning I got up and had a cup of black coffee with Cygnus like I always did. Unlike myself, he hadn¡¯t dodged the specter. He gripped his mug in loose, quietly-shaking hands, taking measured sips. Maybe from a distance he looked fine, but I knew better.

    Cygnus said to me: ¡°Look¡ªI got you something, but¡ªah, fuck.¡± He rubbed his temples, mumbling something about ¡°loud¡±. More quietly, he said, ¡°I hid it somewhere so you wouldn¡¯t dig it up before today and now I gotta remember where I put it.¡±

    In the back of my mind I¡¯d resigned what Yoru had said to me as just empty hope-raising; I hadn¡¯t even entertained the thought that Cygnus actually did get me something.

    All it really did was make me turn beet-red and mutter: ¡°I didn¡¯t get you anything.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to,¡± he said, shrugging. ¡°I make my own gifts.¡±

    He gestured vaguely to the newest pipe-sword he had on the wall, this one made of copper clean enough to shimmer in the fluorescent light the common room was bathed in.

    Cygnus downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp. ¡°They say black coffee is good for hangovers,¡± he said, staring down at the grinds in his mug. ¡°They¡¯d better be right.¡±

    I took another sip, mug cupped in both hands. ¡°My dad used to say that.¡±

    Cygnus flinched, like he¡¯d zapped his finger on a doorknob, and he said: ¡°Oh¡ªright, there was, ah, something I wanted to say to you.¡±

    I looked up at him and waited.

    ¡°Look¡ªI¡¯m sure what you talked about last night was, um, hard for you to say in front of Benji. I know you guys don¡¯t really get along.¡±

    I grimaced. I think I was hoping that nobody remembered what I said¡ªthat the meaning just passed through them like osmosis, and they¡¯d just know where and what I came from rather than remember what I said about it.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± was all I said, and I said it slowly, too.

    But this was Cygnus talking, not Ava or Benji. I didn¡¯t need to be defensive. I trusted him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really have a speech for you,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°Or maybe I did, I don¡¯t remember. I think I had something planned last night, but¡ªwell, you know. All I really wanted to say is that I¡¯m willing to bet that was really hard for you.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure if it was. Alcohol helped somewhat, but I was getting nervous that I was going to start needing alcohol whenever I had to say anything important about myself, and I knew that was a slippery slope. I went to school, I saw the PSAs. I knew the drill.

    None of that really seemed to apply to me, though. All of those warnings were for normal people, and I wasn¡¯t normal people, so maybe I could just ignore them.

    It was food for thought, nothing more. I just remember considering it.

    As for Cygnus¡¯s words¡ª

    I went with, ¡°It was,¡± because it was easier than sorting through my feelings about alcohol; that part was hard, so saying that the whole thing was hard wasn¡¯t technically a lie.

    Right?

    ¡°I just wanted to say that I¡¯m proud of you, that¡¯s all,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°We don¡¯t have any secrets here. Well, except Bell, but¡ªI mean, fuck, you¡¯re more a part of the team than Bell is. Bell is barely a part of the fucking Radiant, let alone the unit.¡±

    I went red again. Locked in place; hands locked around the mug, mug locked halfway from the table to my mouth, eyes locked on a spot on the floor between Cygnus and me, breath locked halfway up my throat, brain locked in whirring silence.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    That was all I wanted, right?

    All I wanted was to be a part of the team.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he said. ¡°Look at me.¡±

    All I had to do was move and I was clear. Home free.

    No more pain.

    I closed my eyes and reopened them, and when I did I was looking at Cygnus.

    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you,¡± he said. ¡°We all are. You¡¯re doing fine, okay? Don¡¯t worry about Benji, he¡¯s just a shitter. He¡¯s ?just salty that Prochazka overruled him to put you on the team. And, like¡ªI think that was a good call, don¡¯t you?¡±

    I didn¡¯t know what to say. This was the golden truth. It was all I ever wanted to hear.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing fine,¡± he repeated. ¡°Just¡ªjust keep it up, okay?¡±

    I said, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    I really, honestly believed he was being truthful with me.

    0             0             0

    Later on, I went out into the hall to go and see if it was snowing. Christmas morning in the factory is the same as every other morning; there aren¡¯t any windows in our room, so it¡¯s a trek to see the weather.

    On my way I passed by Ava, and for the first time in either of our lives, she stopped for me.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she said. ¡°I was just looking for you.¡±

    I paused. Ava was never looking for me.

    In her left hand she held a little plastic bag, weighed down by something soft inside.

    ¡°Did you want something?¡± I asked. Cordiality was the name of the game; we were always formal with each other. It kept our interaction time to a minimum.

    ¡°I¡ªyeah, I guess I did,¡± she said.

    Ava looked at the floor. ¡°I wanted to apologize.¡±

    I didn¡¯t know how to react to that, so I chose not to. All I could do was wait for her to explain.

    ¡°We¡¯re all nuts here,¡± she said. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be faulting you for being a different brand of nuts than me. I¡ªI don¡¯t know, I guess for a while I was nervous you were infringing on my space, like¡­like I was the dealer for blackjack before you showed up, and last night I found out you could deal poker and make drinks, and I was like¡ªfuck, you know? Like I¡¯m nine and a half years older than you, why do you know more about this stuff than I do? And you look like me and I¡ªI was weirded out, I guess. But I¡¯m not going anywhere and you¡¯re not going anywhere, and I realized that¡ªwell¡ªafter blackjack last night I went up to the room I grow my weed in, and just sort of sat there and thought about everything you said. I¡¯m not going to say I was wrong about you, because I don¡¯t think anything I thought about you before has changed. But I am going to say that I shouldn¡¯t be faulting you for it. You¡¯ve had a weird life, and I don¡¯t really understand what it did to you, and if I don¡¯t understand what it did to you then I guess I can¡¯t really fault you for being the way you are.

    She paused, took a breath. ¡°Some of that probably sounds insulting, but I swear I¡¯m not trying to do that. Just trying to be honest. We all benefit from honesty, right? You went through all that trouble to be honest last night. I¡¯m trying to do the same here.¡±

    At some point during that talk, she¡¯d started looking at me, but I didn¡¯t notice when she started; I only noticed when she looked at the floor again.

    ¡°I got this for my weed room as a decoration, but I realized it was kind of backhanded to buy this when you liked it so much. You¡¯ll probably get more joy out of it than I will.¡±

    She held the back out to me¡ªsoftly, I reached out and took it; but I didn¡¯t look inside. Right then I was split between this being a cruel joke and a genuine apology, even if she hadn¡¯t explicitly said she was sorry yet, and some of her words were sticking in my head in an unpleasant way.

    I wasn¡¯t cut out to process things like that.

    The bag could¡¯ve held anything, but I supposed the only thing it held for sure was the answer to my question.

    Ava looked up at me again, bit her lip. I was looking at the bag now in my hand with some level of apprehension; and it must¡¯ve been obvious to her because she added: ¡°Look, it¡¯s not a bomb. I¡¯m¡ª¡±

    She stopped herself, let out a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m holding things against you that are beyond your control. I came here to apologize for doing that and here I am, still fucking doing it. God dammit.¡±

    She folded her hands in front of her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know you don¡¯t trust me, and¡ªwell¡ªwe¡¯ll work through that later, I guess, because I don¡¯t really trust you yet either. I¡¯ve been drinking a lot more lately, trying to work through all of this. Keep putting in a request for a full bar somewhere in this building and they won¡¯t listen to me.¡±

    She gave an awkward chuckle that I didn¡¯t return, although the idea of a full bar jived with me. Another place for me to show off that I was good at something, assuming everyone was okay with a twelve-year-old bartender.

    Ava continued: ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee we¡¯ll be friends or anything, but glaring at you out of the corner of my eye isn¡¯t going to do either of us any good. We¡¯re here until one of us dies, and¡ªand it¡¯s my responsibility to be the better woman here, so¡­so I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I don¡¯t mean to antagonize you. I really don¡¯t. I mean¡ªI did, before, but I¡¯m going to stop. It¡¯s not worth it. None of the hate is. I was thinking about what I said to you when we were out stopping that trafficking ring and¡ªand I was just sitting there thinking, God, I really said that stuff to another human being. And at the end of the day, well, the world¡¯s just not kind to crazy people like us. I don¡¯t really know what would¡¯ve happened to you if you didn¡¯t end up here, and I don¡¯t really want to think about it, and frankly, I¡ªI don¡¯t really want you to think about it either. Because half the time I look at you and see a bruiser like Cygnus who¡¯s capable of unbelievable strength and brutality, who¡¯ll take out anyone and anything with a snap, and the other half of the time I see¡ªI see you. I see someone who really could, almost, be my little sister. And last night I saw you for longer than I ever have, and¡­and it made me realize that¡­um¡­that I was wrong. Wrong about a lot.¡±

    She pursed her lips. ¡°So in the bag is my peace offering, I guess.¡±

    That was enough to convince me. I¡¯m generally easy to sway. It¡¯s a personal weakness of mine¡ªeasily swayed and easily lied to.

    No amount of power would change that.

    But I was willing to accept Ava¡¯s apology, and I was willing to take it in stride because I felt so good from what Cygnus had told me a little while before. Everyone was going to be genuine with me now. I was a part of the team, and team members always told the truth to each other.

    So this too, was the truth. Even if it wasn¡¯t, it was. It had to be.

    I opened the bag and looked inside.

    In there, curled up on the bottom, was the stuffed frog we saw on the counter in the bodega, some five months ago.

    My vision went blurry.

    I reached in, took the frog in my hands. Dropped the bag in my haste.

    It was nothing¡ªa tiny gesture, a five-dollar stuffed frog, and yet¡ª

    It was the world. It was the last piece; a piece I didn¡¯t know I was missing until I held it.

    Ava asked me, ¡°Are you crying?¡±

    I was.

 14 - No Part of Me

    {April 5}

    Winter came and crouched low over the town, and it squatted there long after it was welcome. Even as April drifted in, there was still enough snow on the ground to bury the grass. It wasn¡¯t going to last long, now that the temperatures were consistently fifty-ish, but it was still cold and damp and miserable and it didn¡¯t seem likely to stop any time soon.

    I sat on a medical examining bench, one of those green faux-leather tables they have in doctor¡¯s offices, and the ?Radiant¡¯s resident physician Sophia sat across from me on a stool with some latex gloves on, doing a good impression of a checkup.

    Now, though, she was just typing on a laptop.

    Sophia was a flesh-key like Bell, but unlike Bell, she was a real person.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, slowly. ¡°One last thing. Can you¡ªah¡ªgo stand against the wall over there?¡±

    She gestured to a spot past the end of the bench, directly across from the eye chart.

    I got up and went over to that spot.

    Our relationship was limited to her questions and my answers. We were not destined to get along and I was okay with that. I knew she wouldn¡¯t let me die on the operating table if it came to that, and frankly that was all I really needed.

    She, like Benji, had been overruled by Prochazka on vital subjects.

    Sophia kept her statements to me to a brusque minimum and I kept my answers likewise. Anything beyond that could and would be used against us; anything she said would be internalized by me as a threat or a statement of dislike, and anything I said would be analyzed to death as proof of my insanity.

    But she¡¯d assured me she¡¯d save my life on the operating table. If I had a bullet in my chest she¡¯d do her best to take it out.

    I believed her. I had to.

    ¡°This is the last thing,¡± she said.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I replied. I was good at this one. It was the one that most made me seem like a regular person.

    ¡°Read me the third line.¡±

    ¡°A, 6, G, B, C.¡±

    This eye chart had numbers in it, which struck me as non-standard, but I think Sophia just made one in a word processor and printed it on a sheet of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven paper and stuck it to the wall with a piece of tape. It was hardly official issue.

    Funding a doctor¡¯s office when the doctor is a flesh key is pretty easy, but there¡¯s some things flesh keys can¡¯t do.

    ¡°Fourth line?¡± She stepped over to the laptop that she¡¯d left on the stool and typed something I couldn¡¯t see.

    ¡°Q, W, D, 9¡­¡±

    I squinted. ¡°S?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a 5.¡±

    ¡°Why would they put S and 5 on the same chart?¡± I asked. ¡°That seems bad.¡±

    Sophia paused for a moment. ¡°Yeah, no, that one¡¯s on me. I made this one and stuck it to the wall at one AM last night. Just didn¡¯t think it through. Fifth line?¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    The fifth line was really small. I tried to squint at it, but the letters kept dancing¡ªthere were five of them, I knew that, but as for what they were, it was anyone¡¯s guess.

    I gave it my best shot: ¡°A, R, F, P, L?¡±

    Sophia shook her head. ¡°Zero out of five.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°You missed one on line four, too,¡± she said. ¡°And I¡¯m gonna assume line six is right out, then.¡±

    She typed some more. ¡°Hell, you might need glasses soon.¡±

    ¡°Glasses?¡±

    I realized only after I said it how horrified I sounded.

    My fingers were numb.

    ¡°Yeah, glasses. Or contacts or something,¡± she said.

    ¡°Can you fix it?¡±

    ¡°Your eyes?¡±

    I nodded, quickly. I was acutely aware of every part of my body at once. ¡°Can¡ªcan I try reading the fifth line again?¡±

    It was all I could do to keep formality.

    ¡°Um¡­no? If you got to guess and check there¡¯d be no point in an eye chart,¡± Sophia said without looking up at me. ¡°Prochazka¡¯s got contacts, too. It¡¯s a normal thing.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t look at her. My world extended just past my hands. Anything else¡ªeverything else¡ªwas out of reach. It might as well have been gone.

    A lonely rock in the middle of non-existence.

    ¡°Can you fix it?¡± I asked her again.

    ¡°Why are you so stressed out about this?¡± Sophia shut her laptop and put it on the counter. ¡°Jesus. It¡¯s not that big of a deal. Loads of people don¡¯t have perfect vision. Most people can¡¯t read the sixth line anyway. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    All I could do was ask again: ¡°Can you fix it?¡±

    ¡°Maybe?¡± she asked. ¡°Eyes are weird. I don¡¯t really know much about them. You wouldn¡¯t be the first person who needed some kind of eyewear in Unit 6 and you won¡¯t be the last.¡±

    Her words echoed through my ears. They went in one and out the other.

    I took a deep breath, and another, and another. I was told this would calm me down, but it didn¡¯t work. There was a hole somewhere deep in my chest that was stealing air from my lungs without my permission¡ªno amount I could suck back in was enough. The air went in my mouth and disappeared at the base of my throat. It was gone. Unrecoverable.

    I tried and tried and couldn¡¯t get enough.

    ¡°Good lord, girl,¡± she said, rubbing her forehead. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna fucking die.¡±

    ¡°Please fix it,¡± I said. Even voice. Breathless. Forced that way.

    ¡°I¡¯m not outright saying no because I theoretically can, probably, but I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing and I don¡¯t want to make it worse by accident. I don¡¯t even know what¡¯s causing it. Lots of people nowadays just have deteriorating eyesight. You¡¯re a¡ªfuck, you¡¯re not even a teenager,¡± she said, trailing off. ¡°Jesus Christ.¡±

    She put a fist over her lips and looked at the floor.

    More breaths. I closed my eyes. I said, to myself, ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    ¡°It is okay,¡± she said. Evidently she¡¯d swallowed whatever derailed her a second ago. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Come back if it gets in your way, okay?¡±

    I nodded.

    It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d had a breakdown in her office. At least this time I stopped it before it got too bad.

    Thank God.

    0             0             0

    Everything I did, I did because I could see.

    Without sight, I would¡¯ve had no idea what anyone was saying. I¡¯d have their words, sure, but that was only half the meaning in language. I knew that if I wanted to seem like a regular person, I had to know the hidden other-language, and for other people they knew it instinctively, but I didn¡¯t. I had to learn it manually, through real, conscious effort. At night, if I was too tired, I¡¯d lose my ability to do it, and become really hard to talk to. Alcohol seemed to counteract that, which was a concern in itself.

    It was enough to make me wonder.

    It¡¯s another weakness of mine. It makes me small. It keeps me up at night worrying about it. It makes me the pitiful nothing-invalid I have spent my entire life trying not to be.

    0             0             0

    Some nights back then, I would have a nightmare. I would be wandering through a desert, an infinite desert, with no food and no water and nobody around, and I would be sightless¡ªblindfolded or otherwise obstructed. Nothing but rising and falling dunes forever and ever. The air so dry I couldn¡¯t even use my key.

    I¡¯d have no idea where I was or how I got there or if I was ever going to get out. All that existed was the burning sand on my bare feet, the sun scorching my back, and the weight of knowing that there was nothing but this, that there was no escape, never ever, and that I was completely helpless and alone.

    I didn¡¯t know what part of that nightmare scared me the most: losing my key, losing my sight, or losing everyone.

    The truth is that for all my strength and all my invincibility, I¡¯m still afraid of the dark. In the dark all three of those things are true: I become senseless, I become useless, and I become alone.

    To some extent, that¡¯s still true. Even through everything I¡¯ve seen and done, I am still afraid of the dark. The definition of ¡°the dark¡± may change, but the thing it symbolizes is the same.

    Cold, alone, helpless.

    I live in fear of becoming an invalid.

 15 - An Asymmetry (1)

    {June 11}

    June 11<sup>th</sup> was my thirteenth birthday, but I didn¡¯t get to celebrate it during the day because I had a mission to do.

    Oh well. It happens. It happened to Cygnus on his sixteenth, it happened to Yoru on his twentieth, apparently. It was almost like a curse, like Prochazka planned it that way. Just a few times too many to be nothing but coincidence. He told me at the briefing that he didn¡¯t do it on purpose¡ªhe swore he didn¡¯t, so I believed him because he had no reason to lie to me, and I trusted Prochazka completely.

    My birthday that year was one of those perfect days that makes you want to sit cross-legged in the grass and watch the ants crawl over your feet. The Radiant¡¯s factory home had a wildly overgrown area off to the right of the abandoned staff parking lot¡¯s cracked pavement, but I wasn¡¯t allowed to leave the factory because I had to be easily reachable.

    So I had to settle for looking out the windows, watching the way the sunlight glinted off distant glass in far-off buildings.

    We weren¡¯t supposed to just go walking around the premises outside, because the highway ran right along the back of the factory, and this place was supposed to be abandoned¡ªgod forbid some nosy driver puttering along I-90 saw a person or two loitering near the factory like they owned the place. Walking around town was just fine, though, so I went to do that. Cygnus and I had a mission, but the briefing let us know that we could carry it out any time before sundown¡ªafter dark they¡¯d be expecting trouble. Before then, though, we had the day to ourselves.

    I asked him if he wanted to walk around town and he said that sounded like a swell idea, since it was so gorgeous out and everyone in Unit 6 (even Bell, presumably) was doing something similar.

    So we went out. He left his newest pipe-sword at home; said he¡¯d make another on the premises.

    Outside of the factory, there was a dedicated path we were supposed to take to get into town. According to some unit or another, it was the path that made us hardest to see from the highway¡ªbut that always seemed like a waste of time, especially since we weren¡¯t all that secret anyway. By that time I knew there were a few people that recognized Cygnus and I, and there were definitely more than that that knew Yoru and Ava since they both had a habit of making small-talk with store staff.

    Only Bell probably went undetected.

    Cygnus and I followed the designated path¡ªnot quite the paved one, as that one snaked into view of the highway for a moment¡ªuntil we reached the street the factory could be accessed from. After that, it was only about a quarter-mile¡¯s walk into town.

    ¡°It¡¯s so nice out,¡± I said, as the first words we¡¯d exchanged since we left.

    ¡°Sure is,¡± Cygnus said.

    ¡°It¡¯s my birthday,¡± I said, after that. ¡°I can¡¯t remember the last time I had great weather on my birthday. It¡¯s usually okay, but it¡¯s never been¡ªyou know, seventy-three and sunny.¡±

    ¡°Wish my birthday had nice weather,¡± Cygnus replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. ¡°March birthdays fucking blow.¡±

    ¡°I bet,¡± I said, recalling this past March, where it never got above fifty and it rained almost every day.

    Cygnus took his hands out of his pockets and folded them in front of him as he walked. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°One time it was so bad that it hailed. Quarter-size hail. It dented my dad¡¯s car and cracked his windshield, and he couldn¡¯t afford to fix it.¡±

    He went on about the hail that day, and how they couldn¡¯t go out and get a birthday cake because it was dangerous to go outside, and I just about couldn¡¯t imagine weather like that. Lawrence must be a different world, where hailstones are so big and fly so fast that they knock people unconscious.

    Or he was just making it up as he went along. I didn¡¯t really care. I hung on his every word, and it passed the time.

    Once he was done, he said, with the fervor of someone triumphant: ¡°You know¡ªwe¡¯ve got time. Let¡¯s get some coffee.¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    I swallowed. ¡°Okay.¡±

    0             0             0

    Two hours disappeared in the coffee shop, mostly of Cygnus telling me various stories I couldn¡¯t sort the truth from.

    But I found I didn¡¯t really care if what he was telling me was true or not. It was all anecdotes from his childhood, stuff he did behind his dad¡¯s back on weekday nights. Antics and hijinks with his friends.

    It would¡¯ve been like Cygnus to hold back all of that, because it would remind me of the fact that I didn¡¯t have any friends growing up, or that I was always too meek to do anything behind my dad¡¯s back, and that I¡¯d never quite crawled out from under the shame of both of those things.

    But he just went on and I found that none of it bothered me.

    His dad reminded me of my dad; his family reminded me of my family. Two people, nothing more, in a rowhouse in a run-down corner of a city. Two people struggling to get by in an apathetic world.

    I said to him, ¡°I had a single dad, too.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I assumed so from that time when we all played blackjack.¡±

    I blinked; I¡¯d forgotten just how much of my life I¡¯d spilled right then. To date, it was the only time all six of us had sat down for a game, so it was exceptionally easy to refer to by simple, vague terms like that time.

    I turned bright red.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he replied. ¡°I mean, my papa did his damnedest to not be single, but he was such a relational fuckup it¡¯s a miracle he got any woman to stay with him long enough to get pregnant, let alone marry him for three years.¡±

    ¡°Divorce?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yeah. By my dad¡¯s account, anyway, they hated each other.¡±

    Cygnus took a bite out of a croissant he¡¯d went back up to the counter to get before this conversation. ¡°Good practice, by the way,¡± he added, ¡°to buy something for every hour-and-a-half you occupy a chair in a small caf¨¦. I always feel like a freeloader if I don¡¯t.¡±

    He continued after another bite: ¡°Yeah, they hated each other. Rumor had it¡ªbecause really, that¡¯s all I counted what my papa said about this stuff as¡ªthat they were both in their late-twenties and desperate to not be alone anymore, so they rushed into marriage, had me to stay together, and then they got over themselves and split up. Papa had the better income at the time, and honestly, given what I¡¯ve heard about her since she left, he had his head screwed on slightly straighter, so he got custody. She didn¡¯t want a kid anyway. Last I heard she was working her way up the ladder at some tech company in management.¡± He punctuated the statement with a shrug. ¡°So maybe if my papa could¡¯ve swallowed his pride and stuck it out, I wouldn¡¯t have been poor. And maybe I wouldn¡¯t have had to avenge him, and maybe I wouldn¡¯t have gotten a key.¡±

    Cygnus frowned. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to make that get sappy,¡± he said. ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°What about me?¡±

    ¡°Your mom,¡± he said. ¡°I mean, I know she wasn¡¯t there, but¡ªdivorce, wedlock, what¡¯s the deal?¡±

    I blinked. That was an extremely personal question, and just the mere sight of it made me lock up tight.

    My eyes turned down to his croissant and I said nothing. Tensed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer if you don¡¯t want to,¡± he said, picking up the croissant that I was staring at. It rose through my field of vision and disappeared. I did not follow it.

    ¡°Dead,¡± I said, monotone.

    ¡°Oh,¡± he replied. ¡°Um¡­I¡¯m sorry. When¡ª¡±

    ¡°In birth,¡± I said. ¡°I never knew her.¡±

    Cygnus took a moment to himself. He really, honestly, did some self-reflection. And that¡¯s really something rare in people. Most of the time, when people say they¡¯re thinking, I have a suspicion that they¡¯re actually just staring blankly at something and hoping that the time they put between two objects will somehow make one of them change.

    But maybe that¡¯s just me.

    ¡°Man,¡± he said, looking me in the eyes, ¡°I¡¯m asking you this shit on your birthday. Jesus. I¡¯m sorry. I got carried away, I guess.¡±

    I waited for the pang of shame at being pitied, and it arrived like clockwork. The one thing I could always count on: the paradoxical state I occupied of wanting pity and hating every second of receiving it.

    Oh well. One more mystery for me to never solve.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I said, even though it really wasn¡¯t, but not for the reasons he was aware of.

    ¡°We should get going,¡± he said. ¡°Wacko isn¡¯t gonna kill herself.¡±

    ¡°Maybe she will,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Sure would be convenient,¡± Cygnus replied back.

    0             0             0

    I forgave him.

    I always forgave him.

    The offences were so minor compared to the boons. I had to overlook them¡ªeven if I had to force myself to, because they stuck out like red lumps in my memory, warm and sore. That wasn¡¯t unique to Cygnus¡ªthe offences always did. They were always what I remembered people by, and I hated that it was a struggle to remember the good things.

    I had to consciously recall that he got me a real Christmas gift, not a peace offering like Ava did: a model of one of the big robots from the show we watched together. It required some fine assembly work, but I was more than willing to put in the time. I had to consciously recall that out of the entirety of Unit 6, Cygnus was the one most interested in making sure that I felt welcome. Everyone else did it when it was convenient to do so, but he went out of his way to include me.

    In all my days I¡¯d never thought I¡¯d end up friends with someone like Cygnus. He came from a similar place as me, but the way he rose out of it was so alien, so remote from my own experience, that it was nearly unfathomable.

    He was the kind of person I would¡¯ve been afraid of in school, if I didn¡¯t know him. He was so cool¡ªso collected. So on top of his game.

    The stone of ten couldn¡¯t even begin to think about talking to someone like that.

    The truth was that I needed this a lot more than he did.

    So I would always forgive him.

 16 - An Asymmetry (2)

    We arrived at the house at around four, after stopping at a convenience store so I could pick up a water bottle. No one seemed to be home didn¡¯t appear to be anyone except the target, her car parked haphazardly in the driveway.

    The house itself was a squat, tiny ranch on a little hill with fairly-well manicured grass. It was set off enough from the other houses on that street that I wasn¡¯t concerned about attracting unwanted attention, but I was a little concerned about the walk home, which was close to two and a half miles.

    Cygnus told me he¡¯d pay my bus fare if we were too tired to go home, so that banished that worry.

    Prochazka had laid it out very clearly: the woman was a key-user, type unknown but not a telepath (he¡¯d stressed that), so we weren¡¯t supposed to waste any time: walk in, kill her, walk out.

    He said that this woman had crossed a line she most definitely knew about, and even if she didn¡¯t it would have been simple to assume there¡¯d be consequences for her actions.

    He didn¡¯t say what she did, though. Not that it mattered much to me. I trusted Prochazka.

    Cygnus and I looked at each other, nodded once. Ready.

    We walked up to the door. I did my thing to pick the lock, and we were inside in under ten seconds.

    I opened the door slowly and stepped inside into a living room, with a fireplace and two easy chairs off to the left, a hallway going down to a bedroom, and a kitchen with a side entrance open to that hallway and an entrance into the living room. To the right of us was a little dining set for four.

    It seemed like an old person lived there.

    The second Cygnus stepped over the threshold, though, something from the mantle over the fireplace shot towards us, bullet-speed, and before I even knew what was happening, water from my bottle leapt out and collided with the rock in mid-air, shoving it off-course and forcing it into the doorway just behind Cygnus.

    It slammed the wood doorframe hard enough to embed itself inside.

    Cygnus looked back at the rock for half a second, then at me¡ªstill holding the misshapen water-snake I¡¯d used to smack the rock out of the air¡ªand said, ¡°Fuck.¡±

    I blinked, breathed, and recoiled the water into two rings around my hands, where I usually kept it.

    ¡°How the fuck did you do that?¡± he whispered.

    I didn¡¯t answer¡ªcreeping toward the ajar door across from the hallway¡¯s kitchen entrance.

    I knew she was there. I knew she was there because of the adrenaline coursing through me¡ªI could feel the moisture in her breath; her heavy breathing as it dawned on her that her trap didn¡¯t work.

    I could feel her re-evaluating her plan through the fear in her breath¡ªthe heaviness of it, the labored air sucked through clenched teeth.

    It was, honestly, kind of cool.

    Cygnus tiptoed alongside me. He kept his mouth shut.

    Part of me wanted to reveal our presence¡ªto shout something about us being here, being alive, and being invincible. I knew that it was a terrible idea to do that¡ªbut that last concept stuck in my brain.

    That ambush would¡¯ve worked on anyone else. If Cygnus went at this alone, it probably would¡¯ve killed him.

    But I was untouchable.

    I stopped creeping quietly.

    I walked.

    The rock, embedded in the doorframe, launched itself again, and I felt it all along the way. I knew it was there because of how it displaced the moisture left in the air by my earlier frantic block.

    I was hyper-aware. Nothing escaped me.

    I was invincible.

    I could not be destroyed.

    Without conscious thought, I lifted the last of the water from the bottle and smacked the rock out of the air again.

    I felt the woman in the room hold her breath.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    By that time I was close enough to the room to know that it was a bathroom, and all of the fixtures were ever so slightly leaky¡ªand leaky fixtures are big game for water keys.

    I grabbed hold of the tiny droplets forming at the mouths of both the sink and bathtub faucets and forced the water inside through them¡ªturning them on, full blast.

    Cygnus shot me a quick look, left my side, and went into the kitchen. He plucked a knife out of a holder, tested it for weight, and waited.

    The woman knew she was dead if she stayed in that room¡ªso she, slowly, opened the door, and looked down the hall at me.

    I waved. Watched her eyes go wide. She took a step back.

    She barely had the time to look before Cygnus¡¯s knife slammed into her temple and bolted her to the wall.

    The bismuth-inlaid key around her neck dissolved into the air.

    With the two streams of running water covering the sound of her faint gurgling, I grabbed hold of some of the water from each, froze it into a claw-shape, and used them to turn off both faucets.

    And then the house was silent. I melted the claws back to water and floated it out of the room to at least attempt to clean Cygnus¡¯s fingerprints off the knife, which he¡¯d removed from the woman¡¯s temple after checking her pulse.

    As though there was any chance of her being left alive.

    As I was doing so¡ªrunning the water over the knife¡¯s blade in a swirling motion¡ªhe turned to me and said, ¡°You saved my life.¡±

    I nodded. Focused on the cleaning.

    ¡°How the fuck did you move that fast?¡± he said. ¡°I¡ªGod, I thought I had good reaction time, but that¡ªthat was insane.¡±

    ¡°I felt it,¡± I said, mostly satisfied with the cleaning. I let the water drop¡ªnot like the extra moisture was going to matter. It soaked into the carpet.

    ¡°You felt it,¡± he repeated.

    ¡°The water in the air,¡± I said. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t know I could do that.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t either,¡± he said, quietly.

    It was beginning to dawn on him, I think, that he almost died.

    Cygnus was breathless.

    He said, ¡°I owe you.¡±

    I pursed my lips. Turned bright red again.

    ¡°I¡ªI guess you do.¡±

    0             0             0

    There¡¯s really no such thing as a fight between people with keys. That was one of the first things Prochazka taught me. With two sufficiently powerful key users, there¡¯s no back-and-forth: there¡¯s a back, and if the back doesn¡¯t work, there¡¯s a forth, and it rarely goes past that.

    Only the strongest keys can actually have a fight, where they parry and counter and really go at it. For everyone else, the strength of the first attack is usually more than enough to take someone¡¯s head off, and if they¡¯re lucky and the person misses, then the person who missed usually dies on the retaliation.

    It doesn¡¯t make for very good TV.

    Prochazka told me that a lot of folks end up feeling disappointed by that, but he said it always brought him some amount of comfort. One way or another, unless you really screw up, key fights end in quick deaths. They have a tendency to be anti-climactic.

    So ambush tactics like the one that woman tried to use on Cygnus almost always work.

    But I am invincible¡ªso it failed.

    0             0             0

    Cygnus was quiet on the way back, at least, until he¡¯d finished processing what had happened to him.

    I was elated. I couldn¡¯t remember the last time I felt that happy.

    I was powerful. I was in charge. My destiny was mine and I could shape it however I wanted. Nothing and no-one could stop me. The world was my canvas.

    I could not be killed, I could not be ended, I could not be destroyed.

    I was, surely, the most powerful water-key in the world. I stopped not one but two ambushes, and I did so effortlessly. I wasn¡¯t even tired as we walked back. Not an ounce of fatigue in me.

    I was invincible.

    When Cygnus finally spoke to me, he said, ¡°Man, that was so cool.¡±

    For something like the fifth time that day, I blushed.

    ¡°I wish I could do stuff like that,¡± he continued. ¡°Metallurgy is pretty limited, all things considered. It¡¯s just like¡ªlike extra-limited telekinesis. I¡¯ve heard rumors about metallurgics that can mess with computer systems, but¡ªI¡¯m no engineer, I don¡¯t know shit about that. It¡¯s gotta be nice having all this stuff just come to you.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t tell if there was any spite in that. I didn¡¯t care. What did it matter? What did it matter what anyone thought of me? I was invincible. I was immune to opinions.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. ¡°It kind of is.¡±

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s why you¡¯re here,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°You¡¯re already head-and-shoulders over the old water-key that used to be here, from what I¡¯ve heard. And once Prochazka hears about this, he¡¯s gonna lose his mind. He might even smile.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll laugh,¡± I added.

    ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll even say congrats.¡±

    Neither of us found that funny, but it was enough to make both of us smile.

    We walked home, and the weather never stopped being beautiful.

    0             0             0

    It¡¯s a little frustrating that so much of my mental health is predicated on if I¡¯m succeeding at something. When I was young, I never succeeded, so I never felt like a human being¡ªbut walking home from that mission, I felt so good, so on top of the world, that I forgot where I came from and who I had left and I simply became a person I could admire.

    And I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever done that before.

    Aside from the killing¡ªignoring that entirely, as something completely irrelevant¡ªfor ten minutes I was in charge, I was confident, I made decisions and followed through with them, and I was in touch enough with my team to have understandings that needed no words to explain them.

    Everything I ever wanted, I had.

    As I walked I felt so good that I wondered about love, and if I could ever be worthy of it¡ªand I decided that if I could do again what I did today, if I could do that more than once, then yes, yes I was.

    My dad and I shared a hollow sort of love, where he would alternate between loving me so fully, so apologetically, that it would make me forget the times where I did not exist and I ate my meals and went about my time alone. So my understanding was twisted, and I had never experienced real love as I¡¯d been told it could be before, but on that walk home the world was my plaything, and I was the superior above all living things¡ªso if I wanted to learn, I could, and I would learn because I was invincible.

    I looked at Cygnus.

    And so the whole way home I had a warm bloom in my chest, and I walked lightly, and I smiled and laughed by God I meant it.

    That, I think, was my best birthday ever.

 17 - You Cant Get There From Here (1)

    {September 18}

    Prochazka walked into the Unit 6 home and we all froze solid.

    He¡¯d sent a notice telling us all to be present for some meeting he wanted us all to hear, so every single one of us was there: even Benji, who never went into the big converted space if he could at all avoid it.

    We were all just minding our own business when he came in, and we all immediately ceased doing so when he did. Every eye turned to him.

    He never came into our space. Prochazka may as well have been an alien invader in our secret clubhouse.

    He gestured to the table and like trained dogs we all put down whatever we were doing and walked meekly over to the table in the center of the room. Took seats.

    Prochazka remained standing.

    Everyone looked more or less neutral, except for Benji, who had a grim sort of look that led me to believe he knew what was going on.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to say this in front of all of you because you all need to hear it, and you all will have to implement it in your own way,¡± Prochazka began. ¡°Partially, this is my fault, because I¡¯ve been directing Unit 3 to shape an official narrative among the other regions¡¯ organizations that makes this a requirement.¡±

    Unit 3, as I¡¯d found out, was the one in charge of communicating with the other regions, figuring out who was going to deal with what. They came in handy when there were incidents on the borders of our poorly-defined control areas. The last thing we wanted to do was run into a border issue with the group patrolling New York City, because by all accounts they were draconian and wildly unpleasant to deal with or be on the bad side of, so everyone in that unit commanded a certain respect from us Unit 6 folks that other units didn¡¯t quite get. Given the sheer size of area we controlled, the fact that there were so few of us was seen as a sign of weakness by both the Buffalo and NYC groups. Prochazka and Unit 3 spent a lot of time and resources keeping them off our backs for whatever the reason du jour was. I figured this must have something to do with that, since there was very little that actually concerned all of Unit 6 as a group.

    ¡°Du jour¡± was Cygnus¡¯s favorite phrase this week. I didn¡¯t speak any French, and near as I could tell he didn¡¯t either, but he knew what that meant, at least, and liked the sound of it. I hadn¡¯t even noticed I was using it until I saw the look on Cygnus¡¯s face the first time I said in his presence¡ªsomething between pride and confusion.

    ¡°We¡¯re being paid a visit by a representative from the Hinterland and Western Massachusetts area,¡± Prochazka said.

    ¡°Hinterland?¡± Yoru asked. ¡°That¡¯s like¡ªwhat, four hours from here? The fuck do they want?¡±

    ¡°Three hours,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°They want to make sure we¡¯re able to handle things.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°They have to deal with NYC¡¯s bullshit as much as we do,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°According to their head, anyway, NYC keeps trying to push north and west of Route 23, which means they¡¯re prodding at both of us. The last thing we want is for more people to suffer under them. I know I run a relatively no-nonsense ship out here, but in New York City people just get slaughtered for having magic, let alone ever using it. They see both Loybol and I as weak, since we¡ªas you¡¯ve gathered¡ªdon¡¯t do that. Since we¡¯re both getting annoyed by them, she¡¯s sending a representative to ensure that we¡¯re staffed up to her standards. Otherwise, she¡¯s going to help us find some more people.¡±

    ¡°That sounds pretty fine,¡± Ava said, shrugging. ¡°I think I met someone from Loybol¡¯s group once. He was a little weird, but he seemed alright.¡±

    Prochazka snorted. ¡°About that. Everyone in Loybol¡¯s group that isn¡¯t one of the extremely high-ranked people is controlled directly by Loybol. I don¡¯t exactly know how she does it, but she commands a level of loyalty among her subordinates that I¡¯ve never seen. I know she isn¡¯t a telepath, she¡¯s an earth-key, so it can¡¯t be that, but I have literally seen subordinates of hers who disobey her commit ritual suicide by self-immolation.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Oh is right. Somehow, she¡¯s controlling these people. Apparently, she has a huge number of telepaths on her payroll, and she scoops them out of surrounding regions via covert recruitment. That¡¯s¡ªprobably why we don¡¯t have any, although I¡¯m pretty sure Buffalo has stolen at least one. That said, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s it, because trying to get multiple telepaths to do the same thing to multiple people is like herding cats. If Loybol¡¯s that good, she¡¯s that good, but I¡¯d be floored if that was really what was going on.¡±

    ¡°So¡­what are we doing?¡± Cygnus asked.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the problem. It¡¯s two-fold. One: Loybol¡¯s representative is coming to see our staff, which means she¡¯ll be talking to all of you. I need you all on your best behavior.¡±

    He shot a look at Bell. ¡°Have you talked to anyone in Loybol¡¯s group before?¡±

    Bell nodded. ¡°I think so.¡±

    ¡°Do you remember what you looked like when you did?¡±

    She frowned. ¡°Jesus. That¡¯s a big ask. I went to Pittsfield¡ªin Massachusetts¡ªfor an assassination, since the guy fled out there, and I ran into someone else looking for the same person, but I don¡¯t know if they¡¯d remember me or not.¡±

    ¡°They might,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°There¡¯s some kind of voodoo hive-mind nonsense going on out there. Assume any one agent knows everything all the other agents do.¡±

    ¡°Damn,¡± Bell said, leaning back and crossing her arms behind her head. ¡°That¡¯s something.¡±

    ¡°Do you remember or not?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, but I can¡¯t guarantee anything. It was four years or more now. Just say that that agent is dead and say I¡¯m a replacement. It¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°We replaced one flesh key with another. There were three flesh keys in my area. I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°They didn¡¯t even get to know my name,¡± Bell said. ¡°Chill. It¡¯s not a big deal.¡±

    Prochazka let out a breath. ¡°If you don¡¯t remember what you looked like then, then go as whatever you normally look like. Or¡ªno. What you¡¯ve got now is going to be your public face when we¡¯re dealing without any group like ours from now on. Okay? Take some selfies if you¡¯ve got to.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The sound of someone as old as Prochazka saying ¡°selfies¡± was enough to make me chuckle, and it slipped out before I could stifle it. At the sound, Prochazka¡¯s attention snapped to me and he said, ¡°Something funny, Erika?¡±

    ¡°No¡ªno, sir,¡± I stammered, pale.

    Bell frowned. She looked like the same tall wire sculpture I usually saw her as, and despite the record that she liked this one, she still said ¡°fine¡± with enough of a huff to convince me otherwise. I wasn¡¯t quite sure which part of what Prochazka said to her was making her frown¡ªit could have been the tone, or the selfies, or the reminder that he still outranked her, even if she could extinguish him at her leisure.

    I was still too caught off-guard by Prochazka¡¯s callout at me and I didn¡¯t recover in time to draw a conclusion about Bell before he went on to the next thing.

    ¡°I need you all to be on the same page. About everything,¡± he said. ¡°And here¡¯s the other problem.¡±

    Prochazka paused for a second. ¡°It is likely that Loybol still thinks Unit 6 is a five-man team.¡±

    That was my cue to actually participate.

    I blinked. Took a quick breath to re-center. ¡°I¡¯ve been here for a year.¡±

    Prochazka grimaced, for just half a second. Nobody else noticed it. ¡°I know, but I haven¡¯t told anyone,¡± he said. ¡°And unless Loybol has been spying on us, she shouldn¡¯t know about it. I¡¯m fairly sure that the reason she¡¯s looking to help us out is that she thinks we¡¯re struggling to find you all a sixth. Obviously, we did. However...¡±

    He grimaced again, for longer this time, and stopped talking while he did so. Across from me, Benji leaned back, crossing his arms and staring down at his lap. ¡°What I¡¯m getting at is, while the representative is here, Erika doesn¡¯t exist. Nobody talks about her, nobody references her, nothing. I haven¡¯t yet figured out how I want to go about making this public yet.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve had a year,¡± Yoru said. ¡°You haven¡¯t figured out the spin on this over a year?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it, but I haven¡¯t done anything,¡± Prochazka said. He gripped his own hands, folded in front of him, just a touch tighter. ¡°There¡¯s pros and cons to every approach.¡±

    Benji made a terse little smile. Nobody else noticed it, I¡¯m sure.

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake,¡± Yoru said, leaning back. ¡°I mean, whatever, it¡¯s fine, but¡ªseriously, man. A year?¡±

    ¡°If you really want to know, we can speak in private later,¡± Prochazka said.

    ¡°I do, actually.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s talk, then,¡± Prochazka replied. Prochazka didn¡¯t make bluffs he wasn¡¯t willing to be called on if push came to shove, and as soon as Yoru realized he¡¯d just accidentally made an appointment to talk policy he frowned and looked at his fingernails.

    Prochazka went on. ¡°Erika, just hide in the room where Ava grows her weed.¡±

    Ava frowned. ¡°Shit, you know about that?¡±

    ¡°Did you seriously think I didn¡¯t?¡± Prochazka replied with a sly half-smile. ¡°Please.¡±

    She grumbled something under her breath and didn¡¯t elaborate on it.

    ¡°So that¡¯s the plan,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°I¡¯m going to do my best to get this representative in and out of here in short order. I don¡¯t want them to be here for too long. Knowing Loybol, she¡¯s going to send someone with a fake key. They¡¯ll have something benign like a water key or an air key around their neck, but that¡¯ll just be a piece of jewelry, and there¡¯ll be a real telepath key in their pocket or something.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got a metal detector in storage,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°That¡¯ll nab the fake, at least.¡±

    ¡°Exactly the plan,¡± Prochazka replied, evenly.

    ¡°So...what should I do?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°Explicitly nothing. Take Cygnus¡¯s laptop with you if you get bored. Someone''ll come get you when the representative is gone.¡±

    I swallowed.

    I said, ¡°Okay.¡±

    0 0 0

    So I took Cygnus¡¯s laptop and his charger and I plucked my little stuffed frog off my bed for companionship and I let Ava lead me up to the room where she grew her weed, listening to her grumble the whole way up that all of her secrets were forfeit and that nobody respected her privacy.

    I offered, ¡°I respect your privacy,¡± but she didn¡¯t seem to think that was funny or worth a response, so I didn¡¯t say anything else until we got there.

    ¡°Can¡¯t imagine this¡¯ll take long,¡± she said, glancing over at the group of potted plants by the window. ¡°Just don¡¯t touch anything, okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    The room was a converted attic-like space, with a few windows along the back wall that Ava clustered a bunch of plants I assumed were marijuana around. The plants themselves looked healthy, if a little small and thin, but I figured marijuana just didn¡¯t grow well indoors. Not that I knew much of anything about that.

    Casino games and booze, sure, but weed was a bit above my pay-grade. My dad stuck to the occasional cigar on special occasions and that was it.

    ¡°Ugh,¡± Ava said, glancing at the plants. ¡°Hey, can you do me a favor?¡±

    I was about to open the laptop, sitting cross-legged on the floor, but I stopped. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Can you dehydrate a few of these leaves for me?¡± She went to one of the plants and pinched a bunch of leaves off with her thumb and index nails. ¡°I¡¯m gonna smoke before the rep gets here.¡±

    ¡°That¡ªum¡ªthat doesn¡¯t seem like a great idea,¡± I said.

    ¡°What¡¯s Prochazka gonna do about it?¡±

    ¡°Disapprove?¡± I tried.

    ¡°Prochazka can eat my whole ass,¡± Ava said, heading to a nearby table to grab a small sheet of paper. ¡°Bell gets to go out every night and do God-knows-what to who-knows-what and not tell anyone or file a single damn report and I don¡¯t even get to have a room to myself in this whole gigantic fucking factory where I can relax and smoke weed. There¡¯s like four of these rooms in this facility and he specifically calls out mine in front of the whole group.¡±

    ¡°We all already knew about it, if¡ªum¡ªif that makes you feel any better.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know you all already knew about it, but Yoru was the only one who knew where it was. Maybe he snitched,¡± she said.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like something he¡¯d do.¡±

    Ava pursed her lips. Swallowing some other statement. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. Maybe he just knew the whole time and let me have it.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡±

    ¡°Fuck it, whatever. Oh¡ªthe leaves, please,¡± she said. I obliged her, shriveling the leaves in her hand with negligible effort.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, crushing the leaves in her fist and laying them down on the paper she¡¯d set aside.

    Then she rolled her joint, walked over to a window, opened it, and took a lighter out of her pocket.

    ¡°How the fuck does Prochazka not tell anyone about you after a whole year?¡± she asked, to the air outside.

    Then she flicked the flame on from her lighter and lit up.

    ¡°Beats me,¡± was all I could offer.

    ¡°Like¡ªdoes he not think that rumors travel? Is he just pretending you don¡¯t exist? He was so gung-ho about putting you on the team¡ªlike, when he scouted you out he sold you to us as the best bruiser we¡¯d ever have¡ªand then he went and just...never said anything? That doesn¡¯t add up.¡±

    She took another hit. ¡°Don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± I said, opening Cygnus¡¯s laptop. I put the stuffed frog on my shoulder¡ªit fit really nicely there.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ava said, to no one.

    She paused for a moment. ¡°Doesn¡¯t it bug you?¡±

    ¡°What does?¡±

    ¡°That you¡¯re stuck here. Don¡¯t you feel disrespected?¡±

    I stopped typing. ¡°Um¡ªmaybe a little?¡±

    ¡°Or have you just not thought about it at all,¡± she said, in such a neutral tone that I couldn¡¯t pick out any animosity, even though my instincts told me it was there.

    My instincts tended to be wrong about that stuff nowadays, and Ava promised me she¡¯d be better, so I disregarded it.

    ¡°Whatever,¡± she said. ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t really matter. Loybol¡¯s gonna send a fake key that¡¯s actually a telepath and we¡¯re gonna find out that they¡¯re fake, and big whoop, we¡¯re not gonna be able to do anything about it because if we turn the rep away Loybol¡¯ll know something¡¯s wrong.¡±

    ¡°It might not be that bad,¡± I said.

    Ava frowned. ¡°I mean¡ªI guess so. I came up here to relax, so...¡±

    She took another hit. ¡°Whatever it is is whatever it is. I¡¯m not gonna talk about you, Yoru¡¯s not gonna talk about you, Bell hopefully won¡¯t decide it¡¯d be funny to sabotage this for no fucking reason, and as long as you don¡¯t leave this room I doubt anything bad¡¯ll happen.¡±

    We sat around in more-or-less silence for about half an hour before Ava stood up and announced that the representative had arrived. She must have gotten a text about it.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back when this is over,¡± she said. Then, putting her blunt down in a dish on the table, she said, ¡°I guess you can take a hit if you want.¡±

    One vice was plenty for me. I swore I¡¯d never smoke¡ªsmoking kills. It¡¯s terrible for you.

    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± I said.

    ¡°Then don¡¯t touch it, because I¡¯m gonna finish it when I get back,¡± Ava said, walking to the door. ¡°I¡¯m gonna need it.¡±

    She opened the door and left.

 18 - You Cant Get There From Here (2)

    A few minutes later the door opened again. I instinctively muted the video I was watching¡ªforce of habit from the old days¡ªbut when I looked up, it wasn¡¯t Ava there.

    Bell said, ¡°So this is the campground, huh?¡±

    She walked inside, gently closed the door behind her. From where I was sitting, she looked so tall that I could almost imagine her craning her neck to fit in there¡ªlike she was eight or nine feet all stretched out.

    I¡¯d believe it. I¡¯d believe anything.

    ¡°Did you talk to the rep already?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Nope,¡± she replied. ¡°But Yoru did, and Cygnus is in there now. They just put her in a conference room somewhere and they¡¯re sending all the Unit 6 people in there one by one. Ava¡¯s next, then Benji, then me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going after Benji?¡±

    ¡°I requested to go last,¡± she said. Tiny smile. Impenetrable expression. God¡ªI hated it, and I loved it, simultaneously. I wanted to know and I wanted to be.

    That was it. I wanted to be. I wished I could be that dark and mysterious. God, that¡¯d be so cool.

    I knew deep down that Bell was some horrifying monster who hid her true nature from me. It had to be¡ªthis was Unit 6, after all; despite what I might say I knew that we were all fairly similar, and at least unified in a general disregard for human life if nothing else. Still, I wanted to sit down and hear every last one of her terrifying exploits, in all their cruel detail; with all their senseless violence and meaningless ends.

    I needed to hear them. I needed it so badly it made my heart ache.

    ¡°Why would they let you go after the Unit 6 leader?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Who do you think has the most authority around here? In Unit 6, I mean,¡± Bell said. ¡°You think it¡¯s Benji?¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    I knew it was a trick question.

    ¡°Prochazka?¡± I tried.

    ¡°He¡¯s not in Unit 6,¡± Bell said, perfectly evenly.

    Bell crouched down. Even squatting, she was still a foot taller than me.

    ¡°It¡¯s you,¡± I said, flat. Obviously.

    ¡°Nope,¡± Bell said. ¡°Not me. I¡¯m never around. How could I command anyone? They wouldn¡¯t listen to me.¡±

    I blinked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I said. That was what she wanted, right? To get me to admit defeat.

    The answer, then, was just whatever I wouldn¡¯t guess. So I couldn¡¯t possibly ever be right.

    A game designed to make me look like an idiot.

    ¡°Well,¡± Bell said. ¡°Let me help you out here. I¡¯m going last, but who¡¯s not getting interviewed at all, because they¡¯re too important for a representative from another region to know about?¡±

    ¡°Me,¡± I said.

    ¡°Right,¡± Bell replied. ¡°And who single-handedly changed the fabric of Unit 6 society upon her arrival, just by existing?¡±

    ¡°Me,¡± I said.

    ¡°Correct,¡± Bell said. ¡°Then, tell me¡ªwho lives completely unknown to the world, because never once has there been a survivor on any of her missions? Who exists only in rumors, in shadows, in the dark corners of the hearts of the evil? Who do we keep in our back pocket¡ªour secret weapon, our little nuclear warhead? Who would defend us against the might of New York City?¡±

    She grinned.

    And I was terrified.

    ¡°Me,¡± I whispered.

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± she whispered back.

    She continued, a touch louder: ¡°So let me tell you this: the representative knows you¡¯re here. She¡¯s a telepath, just like Prochazka said she¡¯d be. She knows something is being hidden from her, but she doesn¡¯t know what it is yet, and she can¡¯t exactly dig it out of anyone without raising suspicion. So she¡¯s been trying to weasel it out of them with questions, but it¡¯s not working. Now, I¡¯m not one to approve of secrets¡ªI don¡¯t think Prochazka¡¯s going about this whole thing the right way. I think Esther Bluebird down there should know exactly what we¡¯ve got here. Esther¡¯s just a spy. Loybol¡¯s probably planning to invade our territory under the guise of ¡°helping us out¡± regardless of what happens here. This is just a scouting mission disguised as goodwill, so Loybol knows what she¡¯s up against. If Esther finds us weak, which she will given the overwhelming force at Loybol¡¯s disposal, she¡¯ll recommend that Loybol send an army to come in here, assimilate whoever Loybol deems unimportant into her hive-mind thing¡ªwhich I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯ve figured out, by the way¡ªand assume control of our territory. And if I¡¯d hazard a guess, the only person here who could adequately fight off the hive-mind is me.¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Could I?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You would be the easiest to assimilate,¡± Bell said, quietly. ¡°It would barely be a struggle.¡±

    I fell silent, because I knew that was true, even before I¡¯d asked it. I guess I was just hoping I was wrong, so Bell could keep stroking my ego like she did a moment before.

    ¡°That is, of course, assuming they could get to you. Loybol is a pragmatic woman. If it¡¯d cost her five hundred or more slaves to get in here and take control of us, she won¡¯t do it. Maybe for you, she¡¯d send four hundred. But see¡ªI know what you¡¯re capable of. And you know what you¡¯re capable of. And we both know it¡¯d take all Loybol¡¯s got to get you alive.¡±

    I nodded, slowly. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    I was completely under Bell¡¯s thumb. She could say anything and I¡¯d agree to it.

    God. I was so weak to that. So gullible. So easily swayed.

    So desperate to trust someone.

    ¡°So what I¡¯m going to do is introduce you,¡± Bell said. ¡°I think you should meet Esther Bluebird face-to-face. She should know exactly what she¡¯d be up against. Because God knows those first four aren¡¯t going to be able to convince her of anything. Yoru, Ava, Cygnus, Benji¡ªthey¡¯re not that strong, really, but you and I are a bit more than that. We want her to leave with the right impression, right? People always remember the last thing they saw. Why not make that last thing you?¡±

    I swallowed.

    ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±

    So eager to please. I was never going to say no. I hated that I was trapped up here. As soon as Ava asked me if I¡¯d thought about it, I realized how unfair it was. Prochazka was still hesitant to show me off after a whole year¡ªand even after I¡¯d saved Cygnus¡¯s life from ambush twice. I was invincible, wasn¡¯t I? Wasn¡¯t I the strongest water key in the whole wide world?

    Why should Prochazka be ashamed of me?

    Bell smiled. My heart dropped into my stomach, but I steeled my soul against it because I knew, surely, that this was right.

    ¡°Here¡¯s what I want you to do,¡± Bell said. ¡°I want you to scare her.¡±

    I paled.

    ¡°Benji asked me to do that once,¡± I said, looking down. ¡°It didn¡¯t go well.¡±

    ¡°Well, then you know what not to do, right? I¡¯ll walk you through it. It¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°Prochazka told me not to leave this room,¡± I said again, my heart dissolving in acid.

    Bell paused for a second.

    ¡°Erika, do you want to be a bruiser forever?¡± she asked me.

    I shook my head.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the thing. If you want to make decisions, you¡¯ve got to prove that you¡¯re capable of making good ones. That means you¡¯ve got to break some rules.¡±

    I didn¡¯t want to break any rules. I was permanently, completely petrified that if I screwed up so badly as to disobey a direct order, Prochazka would kick me out and I¡¯d have to go home.

    I was so lost in that thought that I ended up saying, ¡°I don¡¯t want to go home.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t go home,¡± Bell said, softly. ¡°You¡¯ll never have to go home again. But if you want to be more than just muscle, you have to act. If you want to call the shots, you¡¯ll have to call some shots.¡±

    Her eyes were as lifeless as hubcaps. There was nothing there at all.

    Nothing to grip. Nothing to see.

    Nothing, nothing.

    I took a breath.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said. And then I said, ¡°I can do this.¡±

    ¡°You can,¡± Bell said. ¡°I believe in you.¡±

    She sat down on the floor, on her knees. Even then she was still a foot taller than me.

    I was speaking to a wire-pole monster.

    ¡°What is the most impressive thing you can do without hurting anyone?¡± Bell asked. ¡°Something requiring unbelievable amounts of control. Something that¡¯ll show off how powerful you are without actually hurting anyone, that can fit in a room smaller than this one.¡±

    I paused and thought about that for a moment.

    Then I stood up, walked over to the faucet on the back wall of the room, turned it on and drew out a ball of water about the size of a basketball. I brought the water-basketball over to Bell, sat down again with it hovering between us, and split it into a cube of a hundred and twenty-five identical, smaller spheres.

    Years of daydreaming of dancing shapes in class had prepared me perfectly for this moment.

    Each sphere let out a tiny stream of water, draining it into another sphere, organized in such a way that the whole arrangement shrank into sixty-four spheres. It continued, down to twenty-seven, and then I undid the whole thing, back to one-twenty-five, and simply held them there.

    No shaking. Perfectly smooth, perfectly round.

    The center sphere came out, splitting into four sections that warped themselves around the spheres in x, y and z-axis lines away from them, drifting around the outside of the cube and up to the top, so it hovered above the sphere¡ªthen I drew it over to my head and stretched it into a ring like a halo.

    Rather than actually do it, then, I said: ¡°I can break the spheres into even smaller droplets, and I could use them to gently move her arms or something.¡±

    I would have just done it, if I wasn¡¯t so terrified of touching Bell, even with water as a pseudo-prosthesis.

    ¡°That¡¯ll be just fine,¡± Bell said. ¡°That¡¯s more control than any other water key I¡¯ve seen.¡±

    ¡°Other water keys must be bad,¡± I said, letting the spheres drift back toward the sink. The halo I made for myself lifted itself off my head and followed them. ¡°That wasn¡¯t all that hard.¡±

    ¡°If you can do more, do more,¡± Bell said. ¡°Do as much as you can without making it obvious that you¡¯re struggling.¡±

    ¡°I might be able to do a seven-by-seven-by-seven,¡± I mused to myself. ¡°But that could be tough.¡±

    ¡°Go for it.¡± Bell turned, briefly, watching the water drain itself away. ¡°You won¡¯t be doing any of the talking; I¡¯ll handle that. Okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said.

    ¡°Cool. The representative specifically asked that Prochazka not be in the room or near it. You should be okay¡ªand as long as I¡¯m there leading you, I don¡¯t think anyone will make a scene.¡±

    For half a second, Bell¡¯s pupils expanded to fill most of her eyes. It was just an aesthetic effect, I was sure¡ªbut it was enough to strike fear in me, remembering that time she snuck up behind me when I was trying to watch TV. God¡ªhow long ago was that?

    I¡¯d already come to feel like I¡¯d been here for my whole life.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got a few minutes,¡± Bell said, back to normal. ¡°Why don¡¯t you try that seven-cube, just to be safe?¡±

    That sounded like a grand idea to me, so I did.

 19 - You Cant Get There From Here (3)

    And so Bell and I walked down the hall, outside of Ava¡¯s weed room, and we went downstairs and through the factory to the place where the representative was doing the interviews. Only Yoru was still standing around, and when he saw Bell coming he started to say, ¡°Esther¡¯s been waiting for you,¡± but as soon as he saw me behind her, he stopped and shot Bell a toxic look.

    Bell ignored him completely. Kept walking. I just looked at Yoru and shrugged.

    Bell opened the door and stepped into the conference room. I¡¯d been told to wait outside, so I did.

    Yoru looked at me, looked back and forth, then beckoned for me to come away from the door.

    I did so, walking up next to him. He whispered to me¡ªin a half-hiss¡ª¡°What the fuck are you doing down here?¡±

    I turned beet red. ¡°We¡¯ve got a plan. This is serious stuff.¡±

    ¡°I know it is!¡± Yoru said. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªProchazka specifically told you not to leave. God. Ava told me this would happen. Bell put you up to something, right? Fuck.¡±

    He turned away for half a second. ¡°What is it? What¡¯s she making you do?¡±

    ¡°This whole thing is a trap,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s just a spy mission. Esther¡¯s just here to scope out the competition.¡±

    Yoru paused. ¡°That would go against everything Loybol¡¯s done up to now. I don¡¯t buy it, man.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what Bell told me,¡± I mumbled.

    ¡°Bell says a lot of bullshit,¡± Yoru said. ¡°You¡¯d better go back upstairs before Prochazka stops by to make sure you¡¯re not here.¡±

    ¡°Esther¡¯s a telepath,¡± I said. ¡°She already knows about me. It¡¯s too late.¡±

    ¡°Did Bell tell you that, too?¡±

    My eyes dropped to the floor.

    ¡°Look, Erika, I know it sucks being stuck up there, but if Prochazka hasn¡¯t talked about you yet I¡¯ve got to assume he has a good reason. Beats the hell out of me what the reason is, he hasn¡¯t told me, but it¡¯s gotta be a good one. You really should go.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you supposed to meet with him earlier to talk about it?¡±

    He grimaced, looked down. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    The two of us couldn¡¯t meet eyes for a moment¡ªbut I remembered what Bell told me, and I knew I had to make a stand here. Make a call¡ªany call, just to prove I could.

    ¡°Bell¡¯s got a plan and I¡¯m following through with it,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯ve got a plan and I¡¯m following through with it.¡±

    ¡°Bell¡¯s plan,¡± Yoru said. ¡°Not yours.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in the plan.¡±

    ¡°Bell¡¯s just using you.¡± Yoru frowned. Shook his head. ¡°God. You really need to stop talking to her. She¡¯s¡ªBell¡¯s a piece of fucking work, Erika. You really don¡¯t want to associate with someone like her.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s¡ªshe¡¯s so cool,¡± I said, quietly.

    Yoru all but rolled his eyes. ¡°God, Erika, what¡¯s she been telling you?¡±

    ¡°Just¡ªstuff,¡± I trailed off. ¡°Cool stuff.¡±

    ¡°How old did she say she was?¡± Yoru asked.

    ¡°Twenty-six.¡±

    ¡°Well, she told me she was twenty-nine,¡± Yoru said. ¡°Let¡¯s see how old she tells Esther she is, huh?¡±

    He walked over to the wall and but his ear up against it. I joined him, slow and numb.

    Through the wall I heard an alien voice, presumably Esther: ¡°¡­flesh-key.¡±

    ¡°Flesh-key, huh? Pretty rare.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡ªI¡¯ve, um, I¡¯ve been told that.¡±

    The first alien voice was Bell. It was higher, more childish, than I remembered.

    ¡°She sounds like a fucking teenager,¡± Yoru said. ¡°God dammit. I knew Bell was gonna screw us with this. She literally cannot resist an opportunity to put on a new dumb face and lie to someone. She literally cannot do it. It is factually, completely impossible. Fuck.¡±

    He turned away from the wall for half a second, saw me still listening, completely still, and he turned back.

    Esther said, ¡°How old are you, Faith?¡±

    Yoru snorted. ¡°Fucking Faith?¡±

    ¡°Um¡ªI¡¯m eighteen.¡±

    Yoru could barely contain the spiteful laugh. ¡°Eighteen? Are you fucking serious?¡±

    Meanwhile, I was frozen solid.

    We listened to them talk for a little while, small talk, and all the while Esther became slowly more and more confident. I don¡¯t know what kind of character Bell was trying to play, but it was evidently some sort of God-fearing Catholic schoolgirl nonsense who happened to have a flesh-key and no conscience, but still cripplingly low self-esteem, as if someone as powerful as Bell could ever be in doubt that they owned the world.

    It was stock horror-movie garbage, but Esther didn¡¯t appear to be outwardly questioning it.

    After a few minutes, Bell¡ªor Faith or whatever¡ªsaid, ¡°Actually¡ªI don¡¯t know if, um, if you¡¯ve found out about this already, but there¡¯s actually six of us.¡±

    ¡°Six of you. Six in six. That makes sense.¡±

    ¡°Her name¡¯s Erika. I¡ªI brought her with me. Prochazka told us not to show you, but I really think you should see her.¡±

    ¡°Is she outside?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    That was my cue.

    I looked at Yoru, who shot me one last pleading look.

    I came down here because I wanted to call some shots. These were shots, weren¡¯t they? I was calling something, I was sure. This had to be good enough. Esther was a telepath. She already knew I existed¡ªso what harm could this do?

    The least I could do was show her I wasn¡¯t weak.

    So I looked at Yoru and shrugged.

    And he grimaced.

    And I turned around, and I opened the door, and I stepped inside the conference room.

    Esther Bluebird was there, at the foot of the faux-wood conference table. She wore a crisp black dress that revealed close to nothing, with no designs and no accessories whatsoever. That was all I could see of what she was wearing, since I could only see whatever was above the table.

    She was relatively normal-looking, I guess. Blonde hair of an indeterminate length tied back in a bun, no earrings or anything, kind of an angular face. I figured if I walked out of the room, I¡¯d immediately forget what she looked like.

    What did strike me was the way she was looking at Bell before I came in¡ªa kind of predatory half-smile that reminded me a lot of Bell herself, and that I only realized right then was almost exactly the way Bell looked at me.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I forced myself to feel nothing. I mostly succeeded.

    Then Esther looked at me, and all at once her posed look melted into confusion.

    And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bell smile.

    ¡°This is Erika,¡± Bell said.

    She no longer sounded meek.

    Esther looked from me to Bell and back at me. To me, she asked: ¡°How old are you?¡±

    ¡°Thirteen,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve been here for a year, though.¡±

    My water key, on its necklace, glinted a little in the meeting room¡¯s fluorescent light.

    ¡°Do you mind if I do something?¡± Esther asked.

    I shrugged. ¡°Depends.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to put your key on the other side of the room and see if it goes back to you like it¡¯s supposed to.¡±

    I said, ¡°Okay.¡±

    Instead of letting her touch it like she was reaching to do, I took it off and lobbed it into the corner, then walked backwards until I was in the opposite corner of the room.

    After a minute, I reached into my pocket and pulled the key out. ¡°See? It¡¯s mine.¡±

    Esther blinked. Turned a bit pale. ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s¡ªthat¡¯s not supposed to happen.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to come back?¡±

    Stupid. Of course it was.

    ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to have one,¡± Esther said. ¡°That¡¯s¡ªfuck. That¡¯s crazy.¡±

    She took on a weird thousand-yard stare for a second before adding: ¡°Where the hell did Prochazka find you? And why didn¡¯t he say anything?¡±

    I felt a weird pang in the back of my head; it was strange enough and sharp enough to make me wince.

    Bell said, ¡°You¡¯re going to get out of her head now.¡±

    Full confidence. The Bell I knew.

    The pang subsided. ¡°Okay, Erika,¡± Esther said, all tensed up. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    This was my time, I supposed.

    ¡°I¡¯m the strongest water-key,¡± I said.

    Esther did not visibly react. ¡°Really.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll show you,¡± I said.

    I closed my eyes and found the nearest source of water¡ªa leaky faucet in the men¡¯s room across the hall. I drew out that basketball-sized ball of water like I did upstairs, and as it drifted into the room I said, ¡°I can¡¯t raise a tsunami in here, so this is what I¡¯ve got.¡±

    I went through the whole routine with her, with a seven-by-seven-by-seven cube. Each ball perfectly still. Like seamless glass. Perfectly spherical. Even as they melted into each other, they did so in an even fashion, never becoming oblong or misshapen in any way.

    I grimaced. It was, however, the hairy edge of what I could control. Simultaneously holding three hundred and forty-three perfect spheres was, as it turned out, kind of hard.

    Esther watched, entranced.

    Then, at the end, I shattered the whole thing into mist, and with that mist I gathered it around Esther¡¯s limp hand, ?and gently curled her fingers into a fist, and lifted her arm onto the table, and did the same with her other hand and her other arm, so they were crossed.

    Then I re-gathered all the water into a ball and let it drift back to where it came from.

    Esther blinked, again.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± she said.

    Bell smiled. ¡°Listen.¡±

    Esther looked over at Bell. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I know why you¡¯re here,¡± Bell said, abandoning the meekness of Faith. ¡°I know you¡¯re a spy. And I want you to know something. If you¡¯re scoping us out¡ªif you¡¯re trying to figure out how many slaves you need to recommend Loybol to bring to clean out the Radiant, I want you to keep in mind that what Erika just did didn¡¯t even cause her to break a sweat.¡±

    Not entirely true, but I kept my mouth shut.

    ¡°Yoru, Cygnus, Ava, and Benji are one thing, and Prochazka himself is one thing, but Erika and I are another.¡±

    ¡°You?¡± Esther asked.

    ¡°Me,¡± Bell replied.

    And then, in front of Esther, Bell¡¯s face began to distort. She shrank somewhat, filled out a bit more. Her nose became a completely different shape, eyes angled differently, jaw re-set, hair changed color.

    She turned into Esther.

    And then Bell leaned in, and I could just barely catch that her eyes had taken on their mostly-pupil look, so they were just endless empty black holes surrounded by tiny slivers of cornea, and when she opened her mouth a superposition of the voice Bell used with me and Esther¡¯s own came out.

    ¡°You show up with an army,¡± Bell said as Esther, ¡°and you¡¯ll have to get through Erika and I. And we will cut you down.¡±

    Bell reached out. Took hold of Esther¡¯s chin with two fingers¡ªfingers just like Esther¡¯s, slim pianist¡¯s fingers unmarked by callouses.

    ¡°And if you think you can throw some Umbroids at me and make me your own¡­¡±

    And Bell angled Esther¡¯s face upward so it met her own.

    Bell stood over Esther.

    Bell spoke, and Esther¡¯s voice came from her mouth, layered over her own. The two entwined.

    ¡°Think again.¡±

    0             0             0

    Prochazka was outside when we all filed out¡ªI saw him there and instantly froze solid.

    He regarded me with complete lack of expression, then looked at Esther. ¡°I trust you found our team more than capable.¡±

    Esther, to her credit, had swallowed her fear remarkably fast. By the time she was standing in the hall with Prochazka¡ªBell standing next to her and myself stuck frozen in the doorway behind the two of them¡ªshe almost looked normal again.

    But the paleness couldn¡¯t be masked, and the light shaking in her hand.

    ¡°You all seem fine,¡± Esther said.

    ¡°You go tell Loybol we¡¯re doing quite alright, okay?¡± Prochazka asked, cracking a smile.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll do that.¡± Esther glanced around, lingering on Yoru who was still leaning against the wall, scrolling through something on his phone as though none of us were there.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure showing you around,¡± Prochazka said, with his best and brightest face. ¡°Why don¡¯t I show you back to your car?¡±

    ¡°That would be lovely, thank you,¡± Esther said.

    She took a quick glance back at Bell, and a second, even faster one at me, and then she headed off down the hall with Prochazka.

    Bell waited a few moments for them to be out of earshot, and then she said to me: ¡°Hey--good work today. That was just right.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I mumbled, still staring down the hall Prochazka disappeared down.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to get in trouble,¡± Bell said. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±

    Evidently that was enough to rile up Yoru, who made some loud huffing noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

    ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯d better,¡± Yoru said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. ¡°What the fuck was that, Bell? Faith? Eighteen?¡±

    Bell laughed, and I almost believed her.

    ¡°Not like anything I said to her mattered. She was a telepath, Yoru, you really think she was asking us about demographics because she needed to know?¡±

    Around that time I realized that I hadn¡¯t actually seen what Esther¡¯s key was¡ªshe wasn¡¯t wearing it. Maybe it was in a pocket somewhere, but dresses like the one she was wearing didn¡¯t tend to have those. Was she carrying a bag? I¡¯d already forgotten, even though she¡¯d only been out of eyeshot for maybe a minute and a half.

    Maybe Esther was just designed to be forgettable.

    Yoru frowned. ¡°Why did you drag Erika down here?¡±

    ¡°Because she¡¯s a part of the team. Scaring the spy seemed like a good idea, given that she was here to scout out the competition, not to figure out if we needed help. We don¡¯t need help, do we?¡±

    ¡°No, we don¡¯t, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Then why should we act like we do? What does that give us?¡±

    Yoru pursed his lips for a second. ¡°You coerced Erika to disobey a direct order.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t coerce anyone,¡± Bell corrected. ¡°Erika¡¯s a human, she can make her own decisions. I offered her a plan and she agreed to it. She could¡¯ve said no and that would¡¯ve been that.¡±

    Yoru swallowed, took his phone out again, and went back to aimlessly scrolling. ¡°God, you¡¯re impossible,¡± he said.

    Bell frowned. Like she was actually, honestly annoyed.

    ¡°What, because I¡¯m right?¡± Bell replied.

    He grimaced and put his phone away again. ¡°No, because it¡¯s impossible to prove that you¡¯re wrong. So maybe Esther was a spy and maybe Loybol wants to kill us all, secretly, and maybe this whole thing was actuallt Erika¡¯s idea in the first place and you¡¯re just fucking with me, but I¡¯d never know, right? All I can do is just trust that whatever bullshit you¡¯re spinning now isn¡¯t bullshit, like it¡¯s been literally every other time.¡±

    ¡°When have I ever lied to you, Yoru?¡± Bell asked, quietly. ¡°When have I ever?¡±

    ¡°All you do is lie!¡± Yoru shouted. ¡°I...¡±

    He appeared to realize something; the dawning crashed over his face in an instant. On a dime he turned around and shoved his hands in his pockets. ¡°Fuck it, it¡¯s not worth arguing with you. Waste of my time.¡±

    Apparently, though, he was of a bunch of minds, because yet again he thought better of what he was doing and he turned around again. ¡°Stop fucking with Erika, okay?¡±

    ¡°What, exactly, do you think I¡¯m doing?¡± Bell asked, all innocently. It would¡¯ve been perfect if the words weren¡¯t coming out of Bell¡¯s face, from under her dead-fish eyes.

    ¡°Corrupting her,¡± Yoru said. ¡°Making her like you. I don¡¯t know. Whatever the hell you two are up to, it¡¯s probably bad.¡±

    ¡°How so? What am I corrupting? Please. Do tell.¡±

    Yoru made a face that was something along the lines of a stroke. ¡°Out of everyone here to latch on to, she had to latch on to you. The person who¡¯s never here, doesn¡¯t talk to anyone, barely interacts with the team, and only goes on solo missions.¡±

    ¡°This sounds like an issue you should take up with Erika,¡± Bell said. ¡°I mean, you¡¯ve already established that you don¡¯t think she can make her own decisions. Why don¡¯t you two have a nice talk, so you can tell her exactly what she¡¯s supposed to think, hmm?¡±

    I was still hung up on getting in trouble for all of this. Most of what they talked about went in one ear and out the other. All the pretext was lost on me.

    I was just standing there, I guess.

    Bell turned to leave. ¡°You two sort this out, okay? I¡¯m going to go talk to Prochazka.¡±

    And then she went down the same hall Prochazka and Esther went down, turned the corner, and disappeared.

    Yoru looked down the hall after her for a moment and sighed. ¡°What the fuck is wrong with her? Good lord.¡±

    It began to dawn on me what this whole thing was about. It was the first clear thought I¡¯d had since everyone started talking, so I dived onto it.

    ¡°Neither of you think I can handle myself,¡± I said.

    ¡°We both do,¡± Yoru said, instantly. ¡°That¡¯s not it.¡±

    ¡°No, it is. You don¡¯t think I can make my own decisions, and Bell doesn¡¯t think so either. She¡ªshe''s just pretending that she thinks I can.¡± More quietly, I said, ¡°But she doesn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I think you can,¡± Yoru said. ¡°Trust me, I do. But Bell¡ªBell''s whole thing is lying. She lies with her whole being. Maybe this is the one time she¡¯s actually honest about something, but I¡¯d side with the majority on this one if you know what I¡¯m saying. If¡ªif this is something you¡¯re worrying about, which it looks like it is, then¡ªwell, you¡¯ve gotta make some of your own calls, I guess. I don¡¯t really know when you¡¯ll get the opportunity to do that, but...¡±

    Yoru trailed off. ¡°Fuck, that¡¯s what this was, wasn¡¯t it.¡±

    I nodded, silently.

    ¡°But you didn¡¯t make a decision,¡± Yoru said. ¡°Bell made your decision.¡±

    I nodded again. Words were failing me. I could barely comprehend what I''d just trapped myself in, let alone put it to words.

    The overflow fell into an endless pit. It was disregarded¡ªand in time, it all was.

    Yoru and I stood in silence for a moment, considering my condition, I guess. He might have just been staring at the floor, hoping the condition would change on its own. I don¡¯t know.

    Then, breaking the silence, he said, ¡°Fuck it. Let¡¯s get ice cream.¡±

    I was desperate for a new thought. Ice cream was a good enough distraction.

    He set off and I followed.

 20 - Simple Machines

    {September 18}

    I still wasn¡¯t quite sure why Bell turned so suddenly antagonistic after Esther left. Maybe it was some kind of gaslighting trick, I don¡¯t know. If anything Yoru said was true, and it likely was since he never struck me as much of a liar, a gaslighting trick was definitely possible.

    But I didn¡¯t think Bell would do that to me.

    So I resigned myself to never understanding the machinations of people I only saw when they wanted me to see them. I thought that was reasonable, even for someone more functional than myself. Yoru could barely fathom why Bell did the things she did, so why should I bog myself down with the same?

    I didn¡¯t see Prochazka much for the rest of that day, but the weight of what I did dragged me down. I couldn¡¯t enjoy the weather, couldn¡¯t focus on the book I¡¯d gotten a few days before. Every couple of seconds my attention would waver, or a brief cold chill would drip down my spine as I¡¯d remember what I¡¯d did¡ªand the fact that nobody seemed to care all that much.

    All I wanted to do was assert myself, and I¡¯d somehow managed to do the exact opposite.

    Sitting alone in my bed with the book, I stared at the wall across from me and tried to make sense of it all¡ªbut all I really ended up doing was hoping it would change on its own.

    The realization of what I was supposed to do crept up on me over the better part of fifteen minutes. There was really only one thing I could do, myself, to rectify this situation. I didn¡¯t even know if it needed rectifying, to be honest; from my perspective everything seemed to be going on okay, but I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that I¡¯d done wrong and I had to apologize.

    I had to go to Prochazka myself and explain what was done.

    Slowly, I closed my book and shifted to get out of bed without really thinking about what I was doing. I left the room without putting my shoes on.

    I came to Prochazka¡¯s office and I knocked on his door, at around seven o¡¯clock that night. As soon as I did, I was struck through with a cold spear: I was turning myself in! Prochazka was going to kick me out!

    I turned¡ªseriously considered walking away.

    But when I turned back, the door was open and Prochazka was there.

    He¡¯d taken off the suave suit he was wearing before and was now in a simple white button-down shirt and slacks. He almost looked like he could be Cygnus¡¯s dad, but that might¡¯ve just been because of the fatherly outfit. As a distraction, I tried to recall the exact details of what Cygnus had told me about his ancestry and what he¡¯d guessed was Prochazka¡¯s, but standing in front of the man now it was all I could do to keep my planned words in a line and not quiver from fear.

    This was the first time I¡¯d ever come to Prochazka for something. I¡¯d been called to his office many times for briefings and whatnot¡ªbut this was the first time I came to him because I needed something.

    What if he was only nice to me when he needed me, and if it was the other way around, he¡¯d be some horrible monster?

    I couldn¡¯t shake the thought, even with him standing in front of me, essentially expressionless.

    ¡°Hello,¡± he said. ¡°Do you need something?¡±

    His office smelled like fresh wood and coffee.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I started, but my voice caught in my throat. It was all I could do to choke out the truth: ¡°I--I wanted to apologize for, for um, for what I did earlier.¡±

    I could not for the life of me tell if he was mad or happy to see me; but in fairness to myself, I could only meet his eyes for a second before the shame forced me to examine his office¡¯s carpet instead.

    I had done wrong and I knew it.

    ¡°I understand why you did it,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°Why don¡¯t we sit down?¡±

    He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk, which I took while he settled into his chair.

    Prochazka leaned back a little bit, crossed his arms. ¡°What, exactly, did Bell tell you to do?¡± he asked me.

    I swallowed. ¡°She¡ªshe said that Esther was a spy, not just a representative, and that Esther was going to tell Loybol that we were too weak to do anything to stop them if they decided to invade us.¡±

    ¡°So she said it was scouting mission for an invasion,¡± he said.

    I nodded.

    ¡°Well,¡± Prochazka said, ¡°Let me tell you something about Bell. Bell¡¯s plans tend to be good, but she has a hard time when her plans involve someone acting a certain way or being convinced to do a certain thing in the middle. She¡¯s very good when she can actively control all the elements of a given situation, but when she has to rely on other people to just do the thing she needs them to do, it¡ªit doesn¡¯t really work out. Bell¡¯s plan, if I had to, ah, offer my perspective, was equally likely to incentivize an invasion as it would be to dissuade one.¡±

    I didn¡¯t follow. Prochazka saw my confusion and said, ¡°Let¡¯s break this down and put ourselves in Loybol¡¯s shoes. Loybol, originally, thinks we have five people. She assumes they¡¯re all mid-road power as she probably hasn¡¯t heard about any of their individual exploits. Now, with Bell¡¯s plan, she sees that our fifth in Unit 6 is an extremely powerful flesh key, strong enough to¡ªjudging from the tapes¡ªdo a fair-approximation shapeshift of a person she¡¯d only been looking at for less than five minutes in about fifteen seconds. Being able to shapeshift at all is something most flesh keys can¡¯t do¡ªSophia is fairly strong in her own right, but she can¡¯t do it, for example. She also sees that Unit 6 has a sixth, which Loybol wouldn¡¯t have known about at all, and it turns out that they have a good case for being the most powerful water key currently alive. Because Esther is a telepath¡ªthat was a fairly obvious read, I think¡ªshe likely got to see that you have basically no defense against a telepath¡¯s attacks. I would even go so far to say that pretty much any of the many telepaths on Loybol¡¯s payroll could mind-control you for some limited amount of time. Esther could for, ah, maybe three minutes, if I had to guess. Three minutes is probably more than enough for a version of you who isn¡¯t in control of herself to kill us all.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t meet Prochazka¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Now, I understand why you did what you did. I get that you don¡¯t want to be a bruiser forever. Believe me, I get it. I was just muscle for...God, how long? Forty years? Fifty? Maybe¡ªno, close to sixty, before someone trusted me enough to make calls on behalf of others. Periodically I¡¯d be promoted to a minor commanding position, but nothing more than that until Vietnam, and I only got that far in Vietnam because I stood up for myself.¡±

    I paled. That was far longer than I ever thought I¡¯d get. Not even in my wildest dreams.

    Behind Prochazka was a small, narrow strip of cork. Pinned to that corkboard were all of his various war medals, most of which I did not recognize as American ones. I knew he fought against the US in Vietnam, and I figured he fought in World War II as well, probably as a Soviet.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Beyond that, I didn¡¯t know.

    ¡°I fought for a lot of people that did not see me as a person,¡± Prochazka said, ¡°In a lot of wars where the other side didn¡¯t see me as a person, either. I got into those wars by showing that I could fight. I spent years being belittled and disrespected for things outside of my control, and every time I was given a chance to prove myself, I did. And every time I did, I made sure they knew it. And it took countless times of me proving myself and ensuring they knew it before I could be put into a position of power. And, well¡ªlet me just say that I have never once fought on the losing side of a war, even if I didn¡¯t explicitly agree with what the side I was on did after they won.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°If the regular folks of Canajoharie knew who was living in this factory, and the extent of the things I¡¯ve done¡­¡±

    I didn¡¯t laugh.

    Prochazka continued. ¡°It is what it is. I know I¡¯m an¡ªwe¡¯ll say, unpopular figure locally, and I know I¡¯m not winning any kudos from those who would rise up against me by adding you to the team. I know for a fact that the magical-state rulers in both Buffalo and New York City hate me personally, not necessarily because of my track record. Loybol does not. She might be the only one, honestly.¡±

    ¡°So she didn¡¯t send a spy,¡± I said.

    ¡°Almost definitely not,¡± he replied. ¡°We don¡¯t talk much, but we actually get along fairly well, at least from my perspective.¡±

    Which meant that Bell¡ª

    I shoved the thought away. If I didn¡¯t think about it, it wasn¡¯t true¡ªand if it was only in my head and only ever meant anything to me, then its disappearance into some forlorn synapse meant it was gone forever. Permanently negated.

    ¡°Why?¡± was all I could squeak through my dry mouth.

    Prochazka leaned in. ¡°Because we both took systems we disliked and snapped them like twigs over our knees. We did not let ourselves get pushed around. We did not let ourselves be belittled. Here is the secret: when the people in charge are only tolerating you¡ªif all you do is your best, that¡¯s a win for them. It means they get twice as much out of you for no additional cost. You¡¯ve got to stand up for yourself. You¡¯ve got to show them that when you do twice as much, you expect something in return. Because you are more capable than your peers, and you¡¯ve shown it.

    ¡°Erika, I understand why you did what you did, because if I were you and I was told to hide myself in a room upstairs while important things that concerned me were going on, I know I would¡¯ve done the same thing. I will admit. I may have made a mistake. There is a chance Bell was right, and there is a chance Bell was wrong. I personally think she was wrong, but there is an extant possibility she caught something that I overlooked and was right to be suspicious. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time. The bottom line is that I don¡¯t know. What I can say is that Loybol and I have a professional relationship with terms I consider good, and I don¡¯t think she would blow all of that away to invade us. And frankly, if Loybol decided to invade us, there wouldn¡¯t be anything we could do about it short of praying that Loybol¡¯s hive-mind thing happens to be flesh-magic based and that Bell can overcome it. Or that you can just drop a tsunami on the army.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s a complicated situation and there¡¯s no right or wrong answer, really. Put yourself in my shoes, if you don¡¯t mind me putting you on the spot. What would you have done, if you had a young prodigal air-key named Jan Prochazka in your fighting unit? Would you hide his existence to give yourself the element of surprise? Or would you show him off to the world as a deterrent? This is something I''ve been struggling with a while. It¡¯s the kind of shot you have to call when you want to call shots.¡±

    He smiled. ¡°So¡ªwhat do you think?¡±

    I wasn¡¯t prepared to answer. I was still caught up in the slowly-dawning realization that I wasn¡¯t in trouble, and that everything was going to be okay. Slowly, I stammered out: ¡°I¡ªI would show them, I think.¡±

    Prochazka¡¯s face didn¡¯t change. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because¡ª¡±

    Because what? I didn¡¯t have anything past that word. Why would I do that? Why wouldn¡¯t I do that? The possibilities spiraled out of my sight and I could not possibly grasp it all with the tools I had.

    I looked down at the floor and could not finish the sentence. Too afraid, or too ashamed, to even babble something.

    ¡°These things are hard for everyone, Erika,¡± Prochazka said, more softly than he was speaking before. ¡°I¡¯ve made a lot of calls that I regret. That didn¡¯t turn out well for anyone, really. I¡¯ve made decisions that got people I cared about killed for no reason at all. But all you can really do after that is move on and try to do better next time. You just have to pick yourself up and keep going. You don¡¯t get to choose to just stop making decisions. Not when you have power like you have. Now, nothing even close to that severe happened today, but it¡¯s something I think you should be aware of. I¡¯m not expecting you to lead¡ªyou''re thirteen, for God¡¯s sake. That would be incredibly irresponsible of me. Don¡¯t get too ahead of yourself, Erika. You¡¯re young. You''ve got time.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t so sure about that, but all I said was ¡°Okay.¡±

    We talked about a few other things after that, but I can¡¯t really recall what they were. I still felt like I¡¯d gotten in trouble¡ªProchazka''s office felt like the principal¡¯s office, and I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that I was being chastised¡ªvery gently¡ªfor something that was assumed to be my fault.

    Just before I left, I asked Prochazka my new burning question.

    ¡°Is this my fault?¡± I said to him.

    ¡°Is what your fault?¡± He¡¯d started into something on his desk, some paper in front of him, and when he looked up, I just barely caught his expression shifting back to that perfectly neutral, inscrutable face he¡¯d had before¡ªbut the transition as so quick that I couldn¡¯t figure out what it was before.

    ¡°What¡ªwhat I did,¡± I mumbled, and I realized how dumb I sounded as soon as I said it. Obviously, it was my fault. It was something I did. Of course I was to blame.

    But I also didn¡¯t realize how badly I needed it to not be true.

    Prochazka answered, after a moment: ¡°Yes and no. At this point in time, I wouldn¡¯t have expected you to do anything other than what you did. Next year, if this happened again¡ªmaybe my answer would be different. But at the end of the day, it was something you did, even if I think Bell coerced you into it in one way or another.¡±

    ¡°Who is she?¡± I blurted. The question spawned in my head and leapt out my throat so fast I couldn¡¯t even regulate it¡ªnot the volume or the speed or anything about it. It was too loud, too fast.

    Prochazka did not blink. ¡°Bell?¡±

    I nodded, beet-red.

    He frowned. ¡°Erika, I¡¯m going to be completely honest with you.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t draw out a word. The silence caught in my throat was enough of an invitation for him. ¡°I don¡¯t really know. Bell is whoever Bell says she is. Benji picked her for Unit 6 because of her powers and her track record. Every single person here has been told a different story about who Bell is. It¡¯s to the point where, now, she could tell the truth to someone, the whole, complete story of her life, and they wouldn¡¯t even believe it. Maybe the story I know is the truth. Maybe she only told Ava or something. Maybe one of the janitors asked her, on a whim, and she decided that that guy was the only person who¡¯d get to know who she truly was because she knew, unequivocally, that nobody would ever believe them.¡±

    After a second¡¯s hesitation, he added: ¡°I can tell you what I think is true, but that¡¯s all I have.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± I said. It was pleading. I hated it.

    ¡°Bell¡¯s real name is Campbell. I would guess¡ªjust from her conduct¡ªthat she grew up somewhat wealthy. You know Senator Cunningham?¡±

    The name sounded somewhat familiar. ¡°Is he our senator?¡±

    ¡°One of them,¡± Prochazka replied. ¡°His teenage daughter died in a car accident maybe a decade ago. Senator Cunningham is well known for keeping his private life extremely private¡ªso much so that, when he said that his daughter was killed, it was news that he even had a daughter, let alone a teenage one. Her name and age were never formally released to the public, but I have it on decent authority that her name was Campbell. I think¡ªpossibly¡ªthat maybe a young Bell discovered she had flesh-magic, and faked her own death in a car crash to get out from under her father¡¯s thumb. If that''s true, well¡ªOld Leonard has pushed a lot of automotive safety and child-care legislation on, ah, uncertain terms.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°But that¡¯s all I got. Maybe it¡¯s true, maybe it¡¯s not. Maybe she¡¯s his daughter but the story is different. Maybe there¡¯s more to it than that. Most of it is conjecture, anyway, and Bell continues to overperform, so I don¡¯t really question it. She barely qualifies as human to me, but she¡¯s a damn good spy.¡±

    I guess so.

    Maybe, then, that was why she cared so much about me.

    We did the same thing, more or less. Found out we were inhuman and dropped everything for an uncertain future.

    ¡°Erika?¡± Prochazka asked.

    I snapped back to attention. ¡°Oh. Um¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got some meetings I have to go to now,¡± he said. ¡°Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?¡±

    I had one more question for him¡ªone that I¡¯d wanted to ask for so long. And in my heart I thought I¡¯d bury it forever, but it spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it, just like the question about Bell.

    ¡°Why me?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Why you?¡±

    ¡°Why did you pick me when Benji said no?¡±

    Prochazka, again, fell quiet. He looked down at his desk for a moment. Like Cygnus, I really, truly believe he thought over his next few words.

    In the room was complete silence, save the low whirring of distant fans.

    When he looked up, he said to me: ¡°Can you imagine where you¡¯d be if I didn¡¯t?¡±

 21 - Some Nights I Dream of Becoming a Monster (1)

    {November 29}

    I didn¡¯t see Bell very much after that day.

    I thought about her nearly constantly¡ªevery time I¡¯d see her empty bed, I¡¯d think about her; every time we were all assembled somewhere without her, I¡¯d wonder where she was. Every opportunity I was given to think about her was taken up by just that.

    After a few weeks, I came to the conclusion that¡ªfor whatever reason¡ªshe was avoiding me now just like Benji used to.

    In those weeks, though, Benji had slowly started to talk to me more. They¡¯d swapped roles, I guess.

    I expected to be happy with that change. It had always been a sore spot in the back of my head that Benji hated me. Every time I saw him, I¡¯d remember that night a year ago and it would slam me like a fist in my cheek. Benji making an effort to talk to me should¡¯ve made me happy. It should have shown me that maybe he wasn¡¯t so bad after all.

    But I didn¡¯t want his attention.

    I wanted Bell.

    0             0             0

    I asked Cygnus, one day, if he¡¯d seen her.

    ¡°No,¡± he replied. ¡°And I don¡¯t think anyone else has, either. I haven¡¯t seen her in, like, two weeks.¡±

    ¡°You saw her two weeks ago?¡± That was what I¡¯d gotten out of that.

    ¡°Why are you so hell-bent on this?¡± Cygnus asked. ¡°You¡¯ve been asking everyone about her. None of us know what she¡¯s up to. We never do.¡±

    It hadn¡¯t occurred to me that the rest of the unit would gossip about what I was doing. The idea of it paused my whole brain.

    ¡°What is it about her?¡± Cygnus asked. ¡°You don¡¯t ask about anyone else nearly half as much.¡±

    My default answer to that question was, as always, ¡°She¡¯s cool.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± Cygnus said, shoving his hands in his pockets. ¡°It¡¯s gotta be more than that. I know as well as you that you¡¯re just saying that because it¡¯s something you already decided to say.¡±

    I flushed bright red. Even though it¡¯d happened a number of times by then, I was never quite prepared to get called out for my habits like that.

    ¡°I, um..¡±

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not a big deal,¡± he said, a little lower. ¡°Just curious is all.¡±

    I knew Cygnus meant nothing by it. I knew he had no interest in hurting me.

    So I took great care to try and channel all of my nebulous feeling toward Bell into a single statement. The only issue with that was that I lacked the skill or finesse to do that kind of thing.

    I stared at the floor hoping my situation would change without thinking.

    And after a moment I came to an answer that I figured had to be close enough.

    I said, ¡°She just is.¡±

    0             0             0

    The next morning I woke up blurry-eyed and dreary. Nothing I did could quite make the fog go away¡ªI rubbed my eyes over and over until they were bloodshot and itch-ridden and I still couldn¡¯t quite restore the world to focus.

    It took about thirty minutes for the fog to set in. For the first time in a few weeks, I¡¯d stopped thinking about Bell.

    Someone asked me for something as I walked out of the common room without shoes; I don¡¯t remember who it was, only that I ignored them. They were secondary¡ªI had a single unifying concern that grabbed hold of my whole being, and it pulled me along like a limp doll behind it.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    I walked downstairs to the lobby of the factor, and then off to the left to find the longest hallway in the building that I knew of. In the past I knew I could read the block-letter sign at the end of the hall¡ªit warned of the dangers of not wearing hard hats on the factory floor. Prochazka left it up because it amused him in the light of what the building had become.

    I got to that hall, and I squinted down it looking for the familiar red block letters, and I found I could only barely make out the declaration along the top of the sign.

    0             0             0

    The next thing I can properly recall is me in Sophia¡¯s office, begging her: ¡°Please fix them.¡±

    I needed it. I needed it more than anything in the whole wide world. I did not exist without them. I did not function ?without them.

    They were the end-all be-all of who I was.

    Sophia did not understand. ¡°Erika, you¡¯re fine. You might need contacts. Glasses aren¡¯t really a thing we can do for bruisers, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Please just fix them,¡± I begged again, glazed over. Uncomprehending.

    Her eyes closed. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± Sophia growled, punctuating every word. ¡°How many times do I have to fucking say that?¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± I repeated. It was all I could do. All I could ever say.

    ¡°Look. You want contacts? I can give you contacts. I¡¯m not actually that strong of a flesh key, Erika. I just went to half of med school so Prochazka thinks I know things. You got a broken bone, you¡¯ve got something cut off or whatever, I can reattach it and fix you up good as new. I don¡¯t know what the hell is wrong with your eyes, and maybe I could try and figure it out but poking around back there is just as likely to make you blind as it is to fix a minor vision problem.¡±

    At the word ¡°blind¡± I stopped listening. The very pronunciation of it paralyzed me.

    ¡°If you¡¯re so worried about it, go out to the factory floor and shoot some stuff and see if your accuracy is still good. So maybe you¡¯re not going to be as good of a sniper as you were a month ago, but I can measure you for some contacts and then you¡¯ll be just fine. Okay? How does that sound?¡±

    In my head I knew that was a perfectly fine plan, and all I had to do was nod and agree and in a few days I¡¯d be back to normal again.

    But instead I said, ¡°Please just fix me.¡±

    Sophia paused. Her face snapped up tight in anger, and I cringed pre-emptively because I knew I did wrong, but instead of shouting at me she sighed and said, ¡°This is how I can fix you. Okay? This is as good as I¡¯ve got.¡±

    I wanted to repeat what I said, catatonic, until she waved her magic wand and made me well again, as though that was something I could expect to happen in a reasonable world.

    But this was not a reasonable world, and that was not a reasonable outcome.

    So instead I forced that stagnant thought out of my head with a serious effort, and I said, ¡°Okay.¡±

    Sophia stood up. ¡°Let¡¯s get this measured, then.¡±

    0             0             0

    That night I stole a bottle of one of Benji¡¯s favored craft beers from the fridge and took it with me down to the cafeteria, where I knew nobody would be at fifteen past midnight.

    Everything was a little darker than it was yesterday at that time, and I knew no amount of squinting would make it better. In a week I would be well again, but for now I was ever so slightly more disabled, and no amount of positive willpower could shake how weak that made me feel.

    It was worse than it was this time a year ago. Last year I could rub it away from my eyes if I did so for long enough. Last year I failed a part of the eye exam that most people fail, but I had passed previously because I had abnormally good eyesight for my age.

    I suppose now, in hindsight, I can say that I had sunk to the level of regular eyesight at that time. But regular was weak for me. Anything less than my normal was weak.

    So I popped the cap off the bottle and stared down at the black simmering liquid inside. Every liquid was black in the cafeteria. I was lucky to have been able to find a chair without tripping. I didn¡¯t want to turn the lights on, though¡ªI didn¡¯t want to see blurry shimmers. I wanted to pretend that they were just closed, not non-functional, even though they were nothing of the sort and I could obviously still see everything in the cafeteria anyway.

    I stared into the bottle without drinking because I knew I was overreacting. I knew what I was feeling was invalid. So what if my eyes were a little worse? Everyone¡¯s eyes got a little worse over time. Loads of people in my old school had glasses. They were all perfectly fine, perfectly functional people. There was nothing wrong with them.

    But no matter how many times I repeated those words, I could not make them apply to me. They were alien markings. They held nothing for me; no intentions, no meaning.

    I raised the bottle and drank. Screw it. Fuck it.

    It didn¡¯t matter.

    0             0             0

    I finished that bottle and crept back into the room for another¡ªeveryone who was present was asleep, and I was small and quiet, so I got away with it.

    But in hindsight I desperately wish someone had stopped me.

    Again I sat down on that stool and popped the cap, and I stared down into the black of it. And again I reconsidered what I was doing, and again I failed to find a reason not to, and again I downed the whole thing with remarkable speed.

    When I stood, the room was spinning.

    I decided then that I needed to do something. It was the alcohol talking, for sure, but in that time I didn¡¯t know better, or maybe I just didn¡¯t care.

    I wanted to do something that mattered.

    So I left the bottles where they were¡ªfor only a second, then I turned back and grabbed them, discarding one by placing it gently in the waste bin by the door and filling the other from a bathroom sink on my way out¡ªand I left the factory for the town, beer bottle full of water in my swinging hand.

    I walked into town looking for a fight.

 22 - Some Nights I Dream of Becoming a Monster (2)

    Supposedly it was cold that night, but I didn¡¯t really notice. I was beyond the point of considering something as trivial as my own body temperature.

    I remember thinking to myself that if I didn¡¯t think about my failing eyesight or the contacts, if I didn¡¯t think about how violently I reacted to what was frankly¡ªto any normal person¡ªa minor setback, if I didn¡¯t consider the possibility that I¡¯d need stronger contacts in a few months, then even stronger ones, and so on and so on until I became that forbidden word I wouldn¡¯t even allow myself to think, I would be okay.

    I conceptualized it in the phrase: touch no void, feel no pain.

    Over and over again I thought of that as I walked into town late that night. It kept the fear from my head, at bay against a wall of alcohol-fog and repeated mantra.

    Touch no void, feel no pain.

    0             0             0

    Eventually I started thinking about old comics, and how I was, basically, a superhero with a misunderstood backstory. I was an invincible force of nature, but for one reason or another I never bothered to save the common man from the hands of petty evil. Why not? Wasn¡¯t that something superheroes were supposed to do?

    And I was basically a superhero, more than close enough, so why shouldn¡¯t I go and do what so many of my favorites did¡ªpatrol the city at night as a protector, a divine guardian, descending from above upon the evildoers?

    That sounded like fun.

    That new plan was so powerful it banished all of my concerns. I was going to find some crime, and then I was going to stop it. Easy stuff. Nobody could possibly stop me from stopping all the crime I wanted. I was invincible; what could they possibly do against my overwhelming power?

    The town wasn¡¯t huge, but it wasn¡¯t small, either¡ªmaybe a population of fifty thousand. That said, it was full of scum¡ªand people who didn¡¯t recognize the sheer amount of scum. Crime was high for a town that size. I was sure I¡¯d find something, if some unfortunate fellow didn¡¯t try to mug me or something.

    Walking down High Street, I heard some scuffling in an alley. A woman¡¯s voice, muffled and fear-struck, and a man¡¯s mumbling, and soft noises of clothing shifting.

    I figured that was as much of a slam-dunk easy open-and-shut case as any. I thought briefly of Cygnus, and I knew immediately that this was something jail wasn¡¯t going to be good enough to correct. This was beyond petty crime¡ªthis was a real thing I could stop. Not just a mugging¡ªlives were on the line.

    I knew it by the way it was.

    From my bottle I drew out a snake of water. I could try and spear the man using only the moisture from his breath as an indicator of his location, but that had a chance of failing.

    And besides: who would believe that their savior was me? A thirteen-year-old girl out by herself in the most dangerous part of town past midnight, with a snake of water coming out of a beer bottle, swaying from drunkenness?

    Little silver-sapphire key around her neck.

    Nobody would believe that. It was a forbidden story. It didn¡¯t matter if she saw me or not.

    In the darkness of that hour I ceased to be a person and instead became a rumor; a half-hidden, half-believed memory of someone or something. Too nebulous to recall but too striking to ever forget.

    So I walked around the corner in full view of the two of them. The woman saw me, but her eyes were glazed over and vacant. She didn¡¯t look to be in full control of herself.

    They reminded me of my own, somewhat, on my bad days.

    The man was far too busy trying and failing to undress her¡ªone hand holding a knife to her neck and another trying and failing to undo various buckles on her dress. I didn¡¯t need to see any more to understand what needed to be done. I¡¯d already frozen the tip of the water-snake coming out of the bottle in my hand¡ªit was as simple as sunlight to point the snake in the direction of the evildoer and spear him through his temples.

    I fired with no hesitation.

    The spear leapt out and skewered the man¡¯s head straight through, knocking the knife into the air. In hindsight I can say it was lucky that the knife clattered helplessly to the concrete, where the woman¡¯s eyes lazily drooped down to stare at it.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    One shot, one hit, one kill.

    Crime stopped, person saved.

    I felt a bit of warmth bloom in my chest. Look what I did! I saved a life! I was really doing it¡ªreally being a superhero, really doing the whole superhero thing. It was so easy! Why didn¡¯t everyone with magic do this?

    It was so intuitive. If given powers, use them for good. The equation was so mind-numbingly simple. Why didn¡¯t we all do it?

    Couldn¡¯t the world be so much brighter?

    The woman slowly looked up at me, watching me recollect the water the bottle had lost without touching it. Locking eyes with another human made me realize just how drunk I was. It was hard to stand still¡ªand again in hindsight I realize how lucky I was that I made such a good shot. I could have just as easily killed both of them, or neither.

    Not like there was ever a threat to me, but it wouldn¡¯t look good on my brand-new superhero resume.

    The man lay sprawled in the alley, head in three pieces, blood splattered in a burgundy arc obscured by the shadows. Only some of it came into the range of the light from the streetlamps on the other side of the street.

    And some of it was on the woman, too, but she didn¡¯t seem to notice. She shifted into the streetlamp¡¯s glow so she could see me better, and I don¡¯t blame her at all for doing that¡ªI wouldn¡¯t have believed my eyes either if I saw what she was seeing.

    From her perspective the streetlamp lit around my head like a halo, and I was a divine being sent to crush the sinful in my floral-pattern T-shirt and jeans. I avenged the vulnerable. I championed for the weak.

    I was invincible. Nothing could ever stop me.

    The moon and streetlight in tandem over my head.

    We just stared at each other for half a second, and I realized that all good superheroes have catchphrases, every single one had one, and if I was going to commit to this gig like I planned to in that moment, I had to come up one fast.

    So I raised the bottle and said, ¡°Cheers!¡±

    Touch no void, feel no pain.

    0             0             0

    I wandered around for another forty-five minutes or so, but couldn¡¯t find any more crime, so I went home. I was getting tired anyway, and the cold was starting to set in.

    On my way home I got sick, and as soon as I did so the cold set in even more heavily, so I started trying to get home faster.

    As I returned, I thought about my deed for the day, and I thought about the man, and I thought about how vile it was to force yourself on someone so vulnerable and weak. The woman in that situation was helpless, and instead of helping her, he took advantage and did evil.

    I couldn¡¯t imagine abusing someone so helpless like that. There wasn¡¯t a damn thing that woman could have done to stop that man from doing whatever he wanted to her, not in that state, anyway. What drives a person to do things like that?

    I tried to think of something, but I couldn¡¯t. All I could feel was disgust for the sort of person that would inflict such trauma upon someone so powerless. I came here to stop people like that¡ªand the recognition that I was doing a swell job fulfilling that goal made me feel warm inside, despite the chill.

    I went back to the cafeteria and drank lots of water from the bubbler in there. God forbid I woke up hungover; everyone would know I¡¯d been up to something. I¡¯d been very good about not drinking outside of group occasions. That night was the first time, and standing there I remember thinking that it wasn¡¯t something I had plans to do again.

    The vigilante thing, though, I considered revisiting.

    I stood around in the dark cafeteria for a moment, not thinking about anything at all.

    Then I went to bed.

    0             0             0

    I didn¡¯t end up going out again. The thought of getting caught kept me in line.

    If I let myself get pushed around by the thought of minor consequences, I¡¯d never be anything more than a bruiser¡ªI knew that, but this seemed like it would have more than minor consequences if I got caught. I was already on thin ice with Prochazka for my drinking; and thus far I¡¯d managed to get to more stable ground by proving that it wasn¡¯t a problem.

    Getting hammered and killing rapists in town, while a perfectly good idea on paper, probably wasn¡¯t going to win me any brownie points with Prochazka. Maybe I could get him to assign that task to me, but the precedent for asking for jobs wasn¡¯t there and I wasn¡¯t about to try and set it.

    That whole week afterward I was a little more distant than normal; I was even harder to talk to than usual. Only Cygnus asked me what was wrong, and all I could do was shrug and tell him I didn¡¯t know, because that was the truth: I didn¡¯t know what was wrong. I knew something was. But God help me if I knew what the cause was or why.

    I caught myself wondering what I did to deserve it.

    But then the week was over, and my contacts came in the mail. They came in a little blue box with instructions printed on the side and a small bottle of solution to start me off. It seemed like a cruel joke to have the usage instructions for contacts printed in tiny text on the side of a box, but I could still see up close just fine¡ªwhen looking at things right in front of me it was almost as though nothing was wrong¡ªso I just stored that observation for later use and moved on with my life.

    I had one of the contacts on my finger, and I found that I could not for the life of me put it in. Every time I went to do so, I couldn¡¯t. The idea of something touching my eye physically repulsed me. It made me nauseous.

    I couldn¡¯t do it.

    But I knew I had to, or this would just get worse forever, and then I¡¯d be dead.

    And I still had at least seventeen years ahead of me, and I really did want to make the most of those, because as far as I could tell they were going to be pretty good ones if I could keep this up.

    So I steeled my soul and gritted my teeth, and reminded myself that I was invincible; and invincible people aren¡¯t afraid of putting contacts in.

    My finger went up and slotted the lens over my eye, and I blinked a billion times, and then I did it again with the other eye.

    And then world was a little bit brighter.

 23 - The Only Perfect Thing in the World (1)

    {December 18th}

    I couldn¡¯t tell you exactly when it happened, but at some point during my thirteenth year, I became gossipy. Maybe it was the nature of Unit 6 as a solitary clique among an otherwise homogenous group¡ªall the other units socialized normally, but nobody ever talked to us unless they needed something. Gossip, then, was hard to come by¡ªbut when it did, it was so much juicier.

    Yoru and Ava were the king and queen of it; Cygnus knew a lot of good stuff too, but he mostly kept it to himself unless he deemed it relevant for someone to know. Once I¡¯d established a perpetual interest in the happenings of people I never spoke to, one of the royal couple made sure to hook me up periodically.

    On the 18<sup>th</sup>, Ava found me at lunch, in the cafeteria. I¡¯d been going there more often since my vigilante outing; something about standing in that room when it was dead and abandoned at two in the morning made it less of a menace to me. I saw it as exactly what it was in that moment: a room with a bunch of seats in it that people ate in. When I was a stone of ten or eleven, I had a really hard time separating the space from the people who populated it¡ªbut I was older and wiser now that I was with the Radiant, so I knew better.

    I was sitting alone. Not by choice¡ªit was just three o¡¯clock, so nobody was eating any meals. I had nothing going on that day so I¡¯d been taking it slow.

    ¡°There you are,¡± Ava said. ¡°Took like twenty minutes to find you.¡±

    From behind her, Yoru added: ¡°Who eats lunch at three o¡¯clock?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my day off,¡± I said, with a little huff. ¡°I¡¯ll eat whenever I want.¡±

    I still turned a bit red, though. Years of apprehension were hard to shake.

    ¡°Get a load of this.¡± Ava sat down across from me; Yoru took the seat next to her. ¡°You know how Unit 3 does the mail now?¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°So I was talking to Frank, right?¡±

    ¡°Frank?¡±

    ¡°The mailroom guy. He¡¯s¡ªoh, he¡¯s new, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve met him.¡±

    I hadn¡¯t met anyone in Unit 3, really. Other units tended to avoid talking to me as much as possible. All they had to go on for my personality were rumors, and rumors about me tended to not be particularly flattering.

    I swear I¡¯m personable enough once you get to know me.

    Ava went on. ¡°So he got a package addressed to Prochazka, right? And that¡¯s a big-ole red flag since he¡¯s not much of a well-known guy. Doesn¡¯t exactly get a lot of mail, you feel?¡±

    I stopped sipping my soup. Went so far as to put the spoon down completely to give Ava my undivided attention. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Get this,¡± Ava said, grinning: ¡°It came from an address in Hinterland. Frank looked it up and it turns out that it was the address of this restaurant, the Veritas, which is some really fancy place on the waterfront in South Hinterland. But it¡¯s also one of the places we have marked as one of Loybol¡¯s offices.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± I said.

    ¡°So why is Prochazka getting a package from one of Loybol¡¯s offices, right? Since Loybol¡¯s a mostly-friendly-but-still-neutral party, we had to open it, because it could be a trap or something. So Frank called in the bomb squad, which meant that Prochazka heard about it, and it was this big to-do this morning.¡±

    ¡°How early?¡±

    ¡°Oh, um...¡± Ava looked up, thinking back on it. ¡°Ten or eleven?¡±

    ¡°I woke up at ten-thirty today, so...¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you probably missed it,¡± Ava said. ¡°But it was a big deal.¡±

    Yoru picked up the story. ¡°So they opened the box, right? And you know what was in it?¡±

    I was dying to know. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°It was this quartz sculpture of a hawk. Apparently, there¡¯s an earth key in Hinterland who makes amazing sculptures out of various rocks and minerals. Sells them out of his apartment in the Red Quarter.¡±

    ¡°And he got one in the mail?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Yoru said. He put his arms on the table and leaned in. ¡°Here¡¯s the kicker: It wasn¡¯t that guy. There wasn¡¯t a signature on the bottom. In fact, it wasn¡¯t signed at all.¡±

    ¡°Oh my God,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s...¡±

    ¡°Yeah. You know Mara? She¡¯s on the bomb squad.¡±

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of her,¡± I said.

    ¡°She¡¯s really into bird-watching, and she said that the hawk¡¯s proportions weren¡¯t quite right. It looked really good, but it wasn¡¯t quite a red-tailed hawk even though it was obviously supposed to be, right? So it probably wasn¡¯t an artist who made it.¡±

    I wanted to ensure we were all on the same page. ¡°Did Loybol make Prochazka a Christmas present?¡±

    Yoru and Ava nodded in unison. Ava added, giddy, ¡°Isn¡¯t that nuts?¡±

    ¡°So when Esther came a few months ago...that actually was just a good-will checkup?¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± Yoru said, shrugging. To his credit, he didn¡¯t act very smug about it. ¡°Bell¡¯s an idiot, I told you. She¡¯s so fucking paranoid all the time.¡±

    We were quiet for a second. I offered, ¡°You think Prochazka will get her something back?¡±

    ¡°God, I hope so,¡± Ava said. ¡°But he was really pissed that we found out about this. Apparently, it showed up a day early. Otherwise, he was just going to grab it from the mailroom himself. We weren¡¯t supposed to find out about it.¡±

    ¡°A quartz hawk,¡± I said, in loose echo.

    ¡°Loybol¡¯s an earth key,¡± Ava said, glancing around for anyone who could be eavesdropping. ¡°Well-known for having ridiculously good control. But she¡¯s also, like, not an artist, you know? Just really observant.¡±

    Suddenly, she turned around. ¡°Hey, Frank!¡±

    Someone a few tables down stood up and walked over¡ªa man with a black goatee and muscled arms roughly the width of my neck. He looked to be somewhere around forty or forty-five, so I guessed that he didn¡¯t have a key.

    ¡°Yo, Frank, can you confirm the hawk story?¡± Ava asked.

    His eyes lit up. ¡°Oh, yeah. Shit¡¯s wild. Here I was thinking Loybol was some evil overlord like the New York City folks, and now she¡¯s up giving Prochazka Christmas presents? Hand-made Christmas presents!¡±

    He extended a hand. ¡°I¡¯m Frank, by the way. Frank Quinn.¡±

    I completed the handshake. ¡°Erika Hanover.¡±

    He stuffed his hands in his pockets. ¡°Whatcha think it¡¯s about?¡± he asked us all.

    Yoru shrugged. ¡°Brain says gesture of good-will for the next year. Heart says they¡¯re secret lovers.¡±

    Ava swooned. ¡°God, please. Have you seen the two of them together? That would be so fucking funny.¡±

    I barely saw Prochazka anymore, and I¡¯d never met Loybol, so that was a solid ¡°no¡± from me.

    ¡°What¡¯re they like?¡±

    Yoru got to it first. ¡°Stupidly, aggressively, formal. They never break eye contact. Always maxing out on formalities. It¡¯s like their from fucking sixteen fifty-six. I thought they hated each other, but this...this is news, let me tell you.¡±

    Frank laughed. ¡°God. I¡¯m gonna keep an eye out for anything else. Maybe she¡¯ll send a menagerie.¡±

    That was enough to get a chuckle out of all of us.

    0????0????0

    Yoru and Ava had a job to do, so they left a little while after that, leaving me alone again to finish up my lunch and go back upstairs.

    I hadn¡¯t considered Prochazka the type to like receiving gifts. I wondered if he¡¯d ever gotten one from someone in the organization¡ªand I also wondered how many of the other assorted trinkets in his office were things he¡¯d received from people.

    Had he gotten gifts from Loybol before? Were they dating?

    I knew Prochazka was around a hundred years old, but I had no idea how old Loybol was. I¡¯d never seen her before. And at that moment I wished I wasn¡¯t alone in the Unit 6 common room so I could ask someone¡ªand as though I was heard, Cygnus walked into the common room right then. He was walking more slowly than usual, and rubbing his eyes as he came in, so I figured he was just there for his noontime second cup.

    I put my book down.

    ¡°Hey, Cygnus,¡± I said.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°How old is Loybol?¡± I asked him, from the high ground on my bunk.

    ¡°Loybol? Geez,¡± he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. He had to nudge the sheath strapped to his back to do so. ¡°Maybe fifty?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s¡­kind of a big gap.¡±

    ¡°Gap between what?¡± he asked.

    Cygnus, I remembered, was not a telepath.

    ¡°Between her and Prochazka,¡± I said.

    He smirked. ¡°You got word?¡±

    ¡°Yup. It¡¯s wild.¡±

    ¡°Sure is.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s kind of weird, don¡¯t you think?¡± I tried.

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not as weird as it could be, you know? They¡¯re both adults with keys. Realistically speaking they¡¯re probably around the same age anyway, assuming they both pursue treatment for when they get cancer. Physically they¡¯re probably around the same age. It¡¯s¡ªkind of complicated, you feel?¡±

    I certainly didn¡¯t know where the line between ¡°weird¡± and ¡°not weird¡± was in this context, so that was a sentiment I could get behind.

    He went on. ¡°The pickings for people with keys are kind of slim. You kind of have to date someone else with a key, otherwise you just get to watch your loved one get old and die. So unless you¡¯re into that kind of thing¡­¡±

    I didn¡¯t laugh. Cygnus pursed his lips. ¡°Yeah, that was a bit far. Sorry. Anyway¡ªfor Loybol the pickings are probably even slimmer, right? Like¡ªshe¡¯s probably one of the most powerful people with keys in the country, and she can¡¯t exactly date down, for, you know¡­security reasons. Prochazka might honestly be the only person in the area that ticks all the boxes and is, I don¡¯t know, reasonably attractive, I guess?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s kind of sad,¡± I said.

    ¡°Yeah, but if Loybol was in it to get laid, I¡¯m sure she could. I mean, she¡¯s got, what, eight hundred people in her organization? And like, seven hundred and ninety of them are being mind controlled?¡±

    That wasn¡¯t all that funny, either. ¡°Man, I¡¯m just sour today,¡± Cygnus said, rolling his eyes and pushing out a sigh. ¡°God.¡±

    ¡°Christmas got you down?¡±

    He took his sword off and leaned it against the wall, then pulled up a chair to sit across from my bed, where I was. He crossed his legs and did his best to relax.

    ¡°Rough mission yesterday,¡± he said. ¡°Got a lot dirtier than I wanted. Mind if I show you something?¡±

    I shrugged; he reached down and yanked up the leg of his khakis to reveal a savage jagged slash of pinkish flesh.

    ¡°Jesus,¡± I said. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± he replied. ¡°Just rattled. I got lucky; the guy missed.¡±

    It occurred to me then why he was moving so slowly.

    ¡°I should be okay in a day or two,¡± he said. ¡°Sophia fixed me up but she still doesn¡¯t want me going around and doing big stuff for a bit.¡±

    ¡°That sounds reasonable,¡± I said.

    ¡°How are the contacts?¡± he asked.

    Fine, except for the implication.

    ¡°They¡¯re good,¡± I replied. ¡°I can see the sign at the end of the hall again.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good. You didn¡¯t do, like, archery or some shit as a kid, did you?¡± He frowned. ¡°I mean, before you came here.¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Because your aim is inhumanly good,¡± he said. ¡°If you didn¡¯t, then you would¡¯ve been a natural talent at it.¡±

    All I did was shrug and smile.

    That kind of comment, three years ago, would¡¯ve been just what I needed¡ªand now, it still was, but the desperation was gone. The craving, still a dull ache in my chest, had mostly subsided¡ªbut I¡¯d be lying if I said I didn¡¯t love the ego-stroking.

    I deserved a little of it, didn¡¯t I?

 24 - The Only Perfect Thing in the World (2)

    At some point that day I made the call that I needed to get Cygnus something for Christmas.

    He got me something last year, and he¡¯d only done more for me since; how ungrateful would I look if I didn¡¯t get him a gift in return? I had some money to spare¡ªI was very frugal, all things considered; one of the few things I thank my father for teaching me¡ªso more or less anything a sixteen-year-old boy could want was on the table.

    The problem was figuring out what a sixteen-year-old boy would want, or, more accurately, what Cygnus would want. I thought about getting him a model like he got me last year, since I knew that¡¯d be a slam-dunk, but I didn¡¯t want him to think I was just mindlessly aping his gesture. There was more to Cygnus than what we watched on TV, I knew that, so all I had to do was figure out what.

    And it had to be something I could buy in town, within walking distance, because I didn¡¯t want anyone else to know I was doing this. Unit 6 was a gossipy bunch. Secrets were fleeting¡ªunless you were Bell and intentionally spread misinformation about yourself to counteract it.

    By that time it was around four o¡¯clock, and I was back in the common room after wandering around and giving this whole situation some thought. I¡¯d come up with a vague enough outline of a plan for figuring out what Cygnus wanted; and it started with asking him if he wanted to get some coffee. Hopefully, I could get him on one of his tangents again, where he¡¯d just talk for thirty minutes or more, and from that I could figure out a good match of a gift.

    But step one was asking him to get coffee with me.

    After that I could really zero-in on a good gift. It¡¯d be great; he¡¯d love it, whatever it was. And I¡¯d look so capable, and we¡¯d both be so happy.

    But step one was asking him out.

    He¡¯d come back to the room and was just sitting at the big table with a book. His newest sword was leaning up against the back wall like it always was. We were the only two people there.

    But step one¡ª

    I swallowed. There was nothing to it, right? All this pretense in my head for no reason at all.

    I was sure that Cygnus felt the same way about someone, except Cygnus almost definitely didn¡¯t worry about the things I was worrying about.

    What was I worrying about? I couldn¡¯t really quantify it. That he¡¯d say no? I didn¡¯t want anything from him; all I wanted was to hear him talk. There was nothing more to it than that. I just wanted a bit more to go off when I went shopping in the next few days.

    I picked up the stuffed frog next to me on my bed, bounced it on my palm a few times, watching its feet limply jump up and down. The longer I thought about this, the harder it would get. The longer I waited, the less time I had to think about getting a gift. The less time I had to get a gift, the weaker the gift would be.

    It all lined up perfectly for me to do this right now, with no hesitation, because every second that went by was a fractional percent taken away from the quality of my actions.

    I could feel it slipping away, feel the gift literally shrinking in my hands. I couldn¡¯t tell you the shape or color of the gift but I could tell you that every ticking second it became smaller and lighter and more translucent.

    Until the twenty-fourth would roll around and it would be dust in my palm.

    So I had to¡ª

    I needed to¡ª

    I slid off the bed to the floor, and I walked near Cygnus, and I asked him: ¡°Do you want to get some coffee?¡±

    And I was ghostly pale.

    Cygnus turned around and looked at me blankly for a second. I could not for the life of me figure out what he was thinking¡ªagain, I found myself wishing I was a telepath instead of a water-key. The water-manipulation life was cool and all, but knowing everyone¡¯s thoughts would be so much better.

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Oh well. Un-luck of the draw, I guess.

    ¡°I had my second coffee already today,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m all set on that.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± I replied.

    My plan didn¡¯t account for him saying no. Maybe that was what I was worried about? Even with hindsight on my side, I can¡¯t say for sure.

    Cygnus looked at me again. Something in his expression changed; something I couldn¡¯t quantify.

    He said, ¡°But I could go for a good muffin right about now.¡±

    0             0             0

    There¡¯s something to be said for the thrill of a plan working to perfection. After that brief hang-up, we left for town straight away, went to the coffee shop I guess we went to often enough to qualify as ¡°frequenting¡±, and set up.

    He got his muffin; I got myself a second coffee, which I almost never do. I wanted the extra caffeine boost so I could pay extra attention to all the little details Cygnus let through. It could be the smallest thing that tipped me off; so I didn¡¯t want to miss a single word. I got it black, though, to discourage me from drinking the whole thing too fast. Plus, I knew that Cygnus generally disapproved of sugary coffee drinks.

    It was only as I was bringing it back to the table that I realized I bought a version of a drink I specifically disliked to discourage me from drinking it.

    Stupid; but I shoved the thought aside. I wasn¡¯t beating myself up over the small stuff that day. Bigger fish to fry, et cetera.

    So I dropped an ice cube into my coffee to cool it down, took a sip and grimaced at the taste.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you hate black coffee?¡± Cygnus asked me.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming around to it,¡± I said, taking another sip.

    ¡°You sure about that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I replied. ¡°I want to gain an appreciation for the beans.¡±

    He chuckled a bit. ¡°Huh. Well, how¡¯s it taste?¡±

    ¡°Beany.¡±

    Cygnus took a bite of his muffin, careful to lean over the table to avoid getting any crumbs on his blue silk shirt. Cygnus owned a lot of silk shirts, for some reason. I thought about maybe getting him one. I didn¡¯t know what colors he had, though, and God forbid I got him a duplicate, so I crumpled that idea up and threw it out.

    Then he said, ¡°You know what I want for Christmas?¡±

    I froze solid. ¡°Um¡ª¡±

    ¡°I knew it,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°I mean, not to put you on the spot or anything, but I figured that¡¯s what this was about.¡±

    All I could say was, ¡°How did you know?¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve looked super stressed out all day,¡± he said. ¡°And I was wondering what it could possibly be about, and then I remembered that it¡¯s Christmastime, and I got you something last year, and it seemed in line with you that you¡¯d want to get me something this year. It¡¯s kind of unlike you to take initiative on something like this¡ª¡± he gestured to the table and the surrounding coffee shop¡ª¡°no offense, so I put two and two together and took a guess.

    ¡°Anyway, I could really use a new watch,¡± he said. ¡°That would be cool.¡±

    I swallowed. ¡°I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯ll keep that in mind, I guess.¡±

    ¡°I mean, if you think of anything better than a watch, that¡¯s fine too,¡± he said, ¡°But, like¡­don¡¯t stress about this. You don¡¯t have to get anything if you don¡¯t want to. If it¡¯s stressing you out too much, don¡¯t bother. We really don¡¯t take Christmas all that¡¯s seriously around here. It¡¯s not a big deal.¡±

    We fell quiet for a moment. He took another bite of his muffin. I took another sip of my coffee, feeling deflated.

    All that worrying, and for what?

    ¡°Did you do your shopping already?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I¡¯m long done. I got kind of lucky this year and found good stuff for¡­everyone except Bell, I think. I even got Ava something, and I think this is the first time I¡¯ve done that.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± As a companion thought, I added: ¡°How long is ¡°long done?¡±¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I bought you your gift in August.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t keep the surprise out. ¡°August?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Fun fact; if you buy people stuff for Christmas really early and you know a good hiding spot or two, it makes the holiday season a lot less stressful.¡±

    ¡°Man,¡± I said. ¡°I¡ªI should do that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what I do,¡± he said, finishing his muffin. While chewing, he said: ¡°I just keep an eye out all year for good stuff. If I find something better for someone than what I¡¯ve already gotten, I just keep the old thing and line up the new one. System works pretty good for me. Yoru and Ava shop that way for each other, too.¡±

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s so good at this,¡± I said, absently.

    ¡°Not really,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I¡¯m just really good at it. Yoru sucks at getting gifts for non-Ava people. Benji¡¯s not amazing at it either.¡±

    ¡°Benji gets people gifts?¡±

    ¡°Once in a while,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°He got me a really nice bottle of chartreuse a while back. I think that¡¯s the only good gift he¡¯s ever given someone, though, and honestly, I think Ava liked it more than I did.¡±

    I tried to imagine Benji shopping for anyone, and I just couldn¡¯t do it. My mind¡¯s-eye picture of him was just too sour.

    ¡°Hell,¡± Cygnus went on, ¡°I even got Prochazka a gift this year.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Kind of funny in the wake of the whole Loybol thing, but it¡¯s another trinket for his desk, I guess.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Promise you won¡¯t ruin it?¡± he asked.

    I nodded, eagerly. I wouldn¡¯t. I was great at keeping secrets¡ªyears of never talking about myself were finally paying off, in exactly this moment.

    Cygnus glanced around, checking to see if the coast was clear, and then leaned in close and said, ¡°I got him a #1 Dad mug.¡±

 25 - Perfect Life

    {February 4<sup>th</sup>}

    Things turned a bit sour after Christmas that year. We had a meeting with Prochazka again, where he told us he was going to take a more actively patrolling role in our lives for a time. He didn¡¯t say what it was about, but the rumor mill printed that something was heating up somewhere in the area and we had to be ready for something bigger than a standard mission.

    Neither Prochazka nor Benji seemed all that concerned about it, though, so we didn¡¯t let ourselves worry too much, either.

    Despite it being the dead of winter, Prochazka saw to it that we learned all sorts of outdoor survival skills. He would, on days we all had off, rouse us all up at the crack of dawn and drag us out to the wilderness for an all-day session where we hunted and fished for food. He¡¯d intersperse real lessons with war stories from his various conflicts. Over three months we went out maybe four times¡ªhe mentioned once that he wanted to do those sessions around once every two weeks, more often if we had to.

    ¡°It might not seem like it, because nothing¡¯s really going on right now, but you are all still soldiers, and Benji and I are your commanding officers,¡± Prochazka had said to the assembled at one point, being myself, Yoru, Ava, and Cygnus. ¡°Just because there¡¯s only a few of you doesn¡¯t mean you get to do whatever you want. We¡¯ve been lax because this is peace-time, but if that stops, you all need to be ready.¡±

    ¡°Is this boot-camp, then?¡± Cygnus had asked.

    Benji cracked a smile. ¡°No. You¡¯ll know when it¡¯s boot-camp. This is fun.¡±

    I realized that I had no idea how old Benji was. Odds were good that he was an ex-military like Prochazka was; but as far as a real age, I had no idea.

    I made a mental note to ask him, if I ever worked up the courage to speak frankly.

    On the fourth trip, we were all out from dawn to around midnight tromping around in the cold and hunting for whatever we could find. Building rudimentary shelters and such while Prochazka talked about what we could and couldn¡¯t eat, things along those lines. It started to snow around seven o¡¯clock, and it came down heavily for about three hours¡ªduring that time we all crammed into the structure we¡¯d build against the side of a rock-face, sat around a fire and waited for it to stop. Benji was a fire-key, but Prochazka made us do it the old-fashioned way.

    He said that we couldn¡¯t rely on magic other than our own. We couldn¡¯t assume that the others would always be there.

    That said, it turned out that having access to an array of magic makes surviving in the wilderness kind of easy. Being able to warm and cool water meant that Ava could grow plants in patches of ground I prepared, assuming she found something edible to copy or had some seeds on her. Yoru and Prochazka could keep the snow from falling on us as we patched up the shelter, which was also a simple matter to make when Ava could just grow some misshapen trees for us to hide under.

    The only person who couldn¡¯t do all that much was Cygnus. There¡¯s not a lot of metal to manipulate in the wilderness. Any piece of scrap metal he had on him could be shaped into any tool he needed, which was convenient enough, but outside of that there was little he could do without an earth-key to help him locate ores to use. It hadn¡¯t occurred to me before that trip, but finding ores in rock was above Cygnus¡¯s pay-grade.

    I made another note to remind myself of that experience every time I caught myself wishing I was a telepath, because a telepath¡¯s key wasn¡¯t worth anything out there.

    Prochazka taught the rest of the group how to assemble rudimentary fishing equipment, but I found that I could actually just scoop fish out of the nearby pond if I drove them to the surface by manipulating currents. Then, I could just pop them out with a big splash and catch them as they flew toward me.

    He taught us how to clean fish and game, too. We weren¡¯t supposed to ask non-pertinent questions while the lessons were going on, but I made a note to ask about something when we were all stuck in the storm with nothing to do.

    We sat in the center of around fifteen tree trunks, each curving in and upward in an upside-down funnel shape to the center, where a hole let the smoke from the fire out.

    It wasn¡¯t big, but it was big enough for the six of us to sit in. Clockwise from myself, left of the entrance from a bird¡¯s eye view, were Ava, Yoru, Benji, Prochazka, and Cygnus, in that order. Nobody sat in front of the door.

    As soon as we verified that it was snowing hard and unlikely to stop, and we were all more or less dry (thanks to me) and more or less warm (thanks to Benji), I let loose the singular question on my mind. With us all assembled and nowhere for anyone to go to dodge me, it was the perfect time to get an answered that mattered.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Bell?¡± I asked. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t she be here too?¡±

    I caught Yoru rolling his eyes in my peripheral vision. Just to make sure he knew I saw it, I said, ¡°No, really. I haven¡¯t seen her in¡­what? Five months? How long ago was Esther here?¡±

    ¡°Five months,¡± Yoru said. ¡°That was September. But I saw her around Christmas.¡±

    Ava nodded. ¡°Yeah. Maybe a few days before Christmas. I think that was the last time I saw her, too.¡±

    I was a bit miffed that they¡¯d both seen her while I hadn¡¯t. As far as I knew, she¡¯d been gone for more than twice that long.

    How much of that time was she here, and just avoiding me?

    Yoru added, ¡°And¡­yeah. I¡¯ll admit. I¡¯ve been wondering where she is, too.¡±

    We all looked at Benji and waited¡ªeven Prochazka, which caught me a bit off guard.

    ¡°She¡¯s alive,¡± Benji said, simply. ¡°I get correspondence. No idea what¡¯s taking her so long because she won¡¯t put it in the mail, but she¡¯s existing. I get a letter from her maybe once every ten days or so. She must be really deep undercover.¡±

    ¡°For five months?¡± I asked.

    Benji shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll find out when she gets back, I suppose. Believe me, Jan and I have already had this talk. I trust Bell to get the job done and get back here.¡±

    Trusting Bell seemed like a weak cause to everyone else, and upon seeing the others¡¯ apprehension Benji persisted: ¡°Look, Bell does good work. I know she¡¯s not popular among the rest of y¡¯all, but without her we¡¯d all be dead a couple times over. She¡¯s probably more important individually than the rest of you, and she¡¯s definitely less replaceable.¡±

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    That shut everyone up.

    He decided to go on, after a half-second¡¯s hesitation. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the fuck she¡¯s doing out there but I¡¯m going to assume it¡¯s important. If she¡¯s not back in another month or two, then I¡¯ll start getting worried. But for now, I¡¯m just going to let her do her thing. And besides, Bell already knows all this stuff.¡±

    ¡°She does?¡± Ava asked.

    Prochazka nodded, and that was the end of that subject.

    I didn¡¯t stop thinking about it, though. I wondered where Bell was the whole time we sat in the hut. What could she possibly be doing that would take that long? How deep undercover were we talking?

    Who was she, at that very second? How many people did she have to become?

    Would she remember who she was when she came back?

    I imagined her as some bright-eyed young recruit into some nefarious organization, painstakingly working her way up to the trust of the organization¡¯s head, spending every waking second trying to win their favor, just so they could be left alone together sometime half a year later¡ªand only then would she strike. Six months spent as someone else. Six months of abandoned self.

    I couldn¡¯t imagine the effort that would take. I wondered if, after a while, it stopped being hard to hold a new body shape; if it simply became you, like clay. It would settle, until the thought of returning to who you were before would be as alien as the thought of becoming who you are now.

    I was thankful I wasn¡¯t a flesh-key. That whole ordeal sounded very hard.

    I didn¡¯t listen to any of Prochazka or Benji¡¯s stories¡ªif I did, I would¡¯ve found out right then that Benji fought in Vietnam like Prochazka did, but for the American side instead, rather than finding that out secondhand from Yoru later on.

    I tuned back into the conversation in time for Cygnus to ask another question: ¡°Hey, Jan. Can I be frank with you for a second?¡±

    Prochazka pursed his lips. ¡°That reminds me. It¡¯s not important now, but if things get serious, you all will use the appropriate honorifics to refer to Benji and I. I¡¯m okay with being friendly now because I¡¯m too old to be a hardass twenty-four-seven, but if we get to a point where everyone has to buck up and fall in line, I¡¯ll be enforcing that. Understand?¡±

    Cygnus shrugged. ¡°Sure. But can I ask the question?¡±

    ¡°Go.¡±

    ¡°How likely do you think it is that we¡¯ll actually use any of this stuff?¡±

    Prochazka pondered that for a second. ¡°Honestly? Not all that likely.¡±

    I caught Yoru scowling.

    ¡°It¡¯s sort of unlikely that anyone who¡¯d want to attack us would drive us out to the wilderness, unless we agree beforehand to fight this out away from civilization. It¡¯s just as likely that they¡¯d simply try to ambush us all on various missions rather than fight it out face-to-face.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see them try,¡± I said.

    That got at least a chuckle out of Cygnus and a light smile out of Prochazka, who were the only two that knew what I did that time.

    Prochazka squinted out of the entrance of the hut. ¡°Looks like the snow¡¯s letting up. We should probably be getting back.¡±

    That was perfectly fine by all of us.

    So we crawled out of the hut, and Ava killed it¡ªmade it shrivel, cracked the wood, until it was just a pile of timbers next to the rock face.

    Then Benji set his hand on fire and shot a fireball at it, and a few more, until the whole thing was up in flames.

    We all stood and watched it burn, a bonfire bigger than any of us, smoke rising into the star-speckled sky. We were perfectly alone¡ªnobody around but ourselves, nobody to answer to but the one.

    We watched it burn down to nothing. Prochazka called up a wind and swept the ashes into the woods, scattering them across the snow, and I set to work directing the snow with Yoru¡¯s help to cover the ground we¡¯d used.

    And then it was as though we were never there. Fleeting as it was.

    Wordlessly Prochazka turned around and started along the path we came, following the snowfall-dampened footsteps we¡¯d taken to get here. He hummed a song I didn¡¯t recognize, something pentatonic, something that made Benji grimace.

    Prochazka walked with sure, big steps¡ªlike he was a young soldier again, powerful beyond anyone¡¯s wildest dreams, with a secret to destroy the world.

    And I couldn¡¯t say for sure if he was happier back then or happier in the snow-covered forest with us. I didn¡¯t know him well enough.

    But I know what I¡¯d guess, gun to my head.

    It was a half-hour hike back to the cars, and an hour¡¯s drive back to the factory. Packed into each we all became aware of who we were again: smoke-soaked, sweat-drenched. Tired and cold. We all looked like hell, glancing at ourselves in the rear-view mirror whenever Benji drove past a streetlamp.

    The soldier¡¯s life we¡¯d never been given. Miserable and cruel as we were sure it¡¯d be if we had to do it for too long¡ªbut for one day, it wasn¡¯t too bad. The killing wasn¡¯t the hard part for us¡ªwe were all well-versed in that¡ªbut the exposure to the elements, and the grappling for survival; now that was where the thrill lied, at least for me.

    What a strange, twisted world we all lived in. If all there was to soldiering was the killing, I thought to myself, anyone could do it.

    What strange, twisted people we all were.

    It was only in the car-ride home that I thought again about all the things I¡¯d done at the Radiant. I used to keep count of how many people I¡¯d killed, but I¡¯d since lost the number. It had to be over fifty by then; Cygnus was probably close to that, too. In any other place, as any other person, that would be enough to have me shot on sight or worse.

    I never really thought of myself as a murderer. I thought of myself as a mercenary, or maybe a solider. The context was everything, I supposed.

    But despite all of that, I never really felt like what I did was wrong. Maybe my moral compass was poorly calibrated. Maybe I just didn¡¯t have one. Periodically I would wonder if I was supposed to hate myself for all the things I¡¯d done at the Radiant¡ªand I¡¯d try to feel some kind of anger or something¡ªand nothing would come.

    I just wouldn¡¯t feel much of anything at all.

    Maybe that was the reason Prochazka picked me: he knew I was too damaged to care, right from the get-go; so what could being a mercenary do to me that wasn¡¯t already done?

    The stone of eleven wanted to kill. I can¡¯t deny that.

    In my heart I¡¯d always figured I¡¯d be too afraid to actually do it, if given the chance¡ªbut magic made that whole argument disappear. There was no fear of getting caught. Who was going to catch me? The people we killed did not exist. We did not exist. In the society we inhabited there was only vigilante justice. No jail. Only death.

    Death and telepaths, I suppose.

    Maybe being a soldier was all I ever wanted to be.

    I can never be thankful enough for falling backward into the Radiant.

    And yet¡ª

    In the back of my head the idea still lingered: that stereotypical soldier¡¯s life, the one Benji and Prochazka lived some forty years ago, was what we all deserved for the crimes we committed¡ªand the fact that we all got to come home to a warm room and a clean bed, with food on the table whenever we wanted it, and regular break days where we could just mill around and enjoy the sunshine or stay in and watch TV¡ªwasn¡¯t that horribly unfair to those who couldn¡¯t enjoy what we had?

    I lived a perfect life. I had all I ever wanted in the world.

    Who can say that, really? Even those more fortunate than me¡ªthose who had more money, those who didn¡¯t have my demons¡ªwho can say that they live the perfect life? Who but me?

    What more could I possibly ask for than what I had? People who respected me. Goals I could achieve. A steady paycheck, steady food, good company.

    I was a champion of the downtrodden¡ªa hero of people like the stone I¡¯d left behind.

    That¡¯s all there was to it¡ªand I had the dream of life at an age where everyone else is still lost in planning. I was already there. I¡¯d already reached the end-game. Thirteen years old. That had to be some kind of record.

    I looked out the window of the car, counted the streetlamps as we pushed on down Route 10, steadily forward like the march of time.

    My lifelong dreams had finally come true.

    0             0             0

    It was around two in the morning by the time we came back to the factory, and I found myself looking up at the sky¡ªand I was saddened by the fact that so many of the new stars I¡¯d found were gone.

    And the freedom I¡¯d had in flexing every bit of power I wanted to while catching those fish¡ªaccompanied by the little pang of regret that I didn¡¯t even try to shift the whole pond. I could have, I was sure. I promised myself I¡¯d do it next time. There¡¯d be a next time, I was sure¡ªhopefully in spring, when it was a little warmer.

    Those of us who wanted to wash the sticky smoke-smell off us before we went to bed filed through the showers; the rest of us gave up and went to sleep.

    I took a shower, and as I came back I saw Bell¡¯s empty bed as I¡¯d done every few nights for the past few months, and I tried to imagine where she could possibly be. What was going on in her secret world that we never got to see.

    But that much distance was too much for me. Any more and I¡¯d get lost in it.

    And in that time, I wanted to enjoy the passing of seconds for exactly what they were¡ªtime passed in a perfect life.

 26 - The Boundless Rage (1)

    {March 13<sup>th</sup>}

    Benji came to me that morning, over breakfast. He didn¡¯t sit down, but he addressed me by name, and that was more than we¡¯d had in a good while as it was.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he said. ¡°Are you free today?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied. ¡°More or less.¡±

    ¡°Cool. Can¡­can you help me with something? I need your help,¡± he said, and the grimace that followed told me everything I needed to know about how that sentence tasted.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± He looked down. ¡°I need a bruiser with me today and everyone else is busy.¡±

    I figured. ¡°You want me to be your bodyguard?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Again?¡± I asked.

    By this time I was so far removed from the event that split us apart that I could regard it coolly, completely detached, as though it had nothing to do with me whatsoever. It was an old Erika that was a part of that terrible day, and the Erika I was now knew of it only through stories.

    It was in the past. It meant nothing.

    Benji, however, valued it a lot more than I did. His eyes went to the floor for half a second, then  he shifted his weight a bit and made eye contact again. ¡°Yeah. Again.¡±

    And all at once the fa?ade against the event I¡¯d been building up faltered¡ªa second chance! I could make this whole thing right.

    I could make this whole thing go away.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± I said.

    ¡°Cool,¡± Benji said. ¡°I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯ll send you then info as soon as I have it. Okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    He nodded and walked away.

    I looked down at my two remaining pancakes and found that I wasn¡¯t all that hungry anymore.

    0??0??0

    The mission, on the surface, felt a lot like the last one I tagged along with Benji on almost a year and a half ago.

    God¡ªit had really been that long. Days at the Radiant just breezed by.

    Benji wanted me to stand behind him and look menacing while he tried to talk some sense into a certain Marie Kilmer, a fellow water-key.

    Benji wasn¡¯t sure how sane she was, and¡ªas a rule¡ªwas against killing anyone he thought could still be saved. I wasn¡¯t so sure it was worth the effort, especially since she lived in Rochester, so she was fair game for getting scooped up by the Buffalo gang¡ªthey split patrol of Rochester with us, so it was basically open season on anyone from there with magic. He told me that he was hoping that making a stand with or against Marie Kilmer, who was by all accounts fairly powerful, would deter the Buffalo gang from making a scene there, and possibly open a door for Prochazka to take control of the rights to the area. It didn¡¯t really matter which side we took, he¡¯d said, as long as we did something proactive.

    I thought that was a slim possibility, but this needed to get done anyway, and everything else was just upside.

    Marie Kilmer was, apparently, a middle school math teacher who scooped up a key at what was commonly considered to be the last possible second (a couple days before her twenty-fourth birthday) following the deaths of her parents and sister in the plane crash over the North Atlantic that happened around a week and a half before. The kicker: at the same time, the annual class trip to Europe was happening at that school, and that happened to be one of the flights home.

    So sixteen students were dead, too.

    It was an international tragedy, but Marie Kilmer wasn¡¯t in the spotlight for it. The fact that her parents and sister were incidentally onboard was initially a fun fact for them¡ªthey''d get to meet some of Marie¡¯s students on the way back, how nice¡ªbut it ended up being such a psychological one-two sucker punch for Marie that the emotional trauma of it was enough for whatever higher power controls these things to decide she needed a key.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    God only knew what she could possibly use that key for. The system is kind of stupid sometimes. It seeks out traumatized, damaged people, but it doesn¡¯t select for the causes of the trauma. So you end up with people like Marie, broken beyond repair by the whims of some mercurial god, and you give them magic, as though that would ever bring her family back. I could only imagine what someone like that would try to do with a flesh or telepathic key.

    She¡¯d been on sick leave since. Benji had it on good authority that she was planning to lash out against all of her least favorite colleagues. Not that it would accomplish anything, but motives are motives, and people like her didn¡¯t tend to think straight.

    Cases like that happened all the time. It¡¯s what Benji specialized in. Talking people down from metaphorical bridges. Making them see that their magic can be used for good¡ªor, barring that, at least not for evil. Or, alternatively, convincing them to jump. As long as they jumped in a self-contained, easily cleanable way.

    I never said Benji was a saint. He said it himself: we were the bad guys. A lot of the time, he successfully talked the person down. A lot of the time, he maneuvered them into a position where they couldn¡¯t hurt anyone. Whether that¡¯s moving to the wilderness, or jumping off a bridge, or whatever, it didn¡¯t matter. And, rarely, he rolled heads. When all else failed.

    It seemed to me in those days like Benji failed more often than he succeeded, but that was because Benji rarely ever talked to me, and when he did, it was because he was at the end of his rope for some reason or another. I never really got to see him do well, so all of my stories of Benji talking someone down successfully were second-hand.

    I¡¯d spent the morning preparing some lines and plans for a couple different ways the encounter could go down. She was a water-key like me; maybe I could show her what being a water key could be like and inspire her to not throw her life away. Maybe we¡¯d draft her as a seventh.

    Maybe just seeing someone who could very well be one of her students would make her break down. One way or another, this job was ending that day. That¡¯s what Benji said: it was going to be the final stand for her. Whether she knew it or not.

    So I spent all that time, maybe three or four hours, thinking through every possible permutation of the next six. Everything she could say and how I¡¯d respond. Every way she could attack and how I¡¯d retaliate. Every possible thing Benji could ask me do to, and how I¡¯d fulfill it.

    I was ready as ready could be.

    Then Benji walked into the room and told me we were going to do it tomorrow instead.

    0??0??0

    I hadn¡¯t felt that deflated in quite a while. I was so ready¡ªso pumped¡ªto finally make this whole thing right. I was so ready that I¡¯d physically written out my plans. I had literal lines that I¡¯d reviewed. I¡¯d even come up with a couple of snazzy one-liners to use if the situation called for it.

    I was so ready!

    And Benji didn¡¯t even have the kindness to tell me why he was delaying it¡ªhe¡¯d just walked into the room, gotten my attention, told me the mission was being delayed, and walked away.

    Ava was there when it happened, and she saw me just sit on my bed with all my papers in front of me, lightly frozen, trying to figure out why he¡¯d do that.

    I came up with nothing.

    Ava said, ¡°You¡¯re going on a mission with Benji again?¡±

    Slowly, I replied: ¡°I was. Um, I think.¡±

    ¡°You probably still are,¡± she said, looking at the door as though Benji was still there. ¡°He¡¯s just pissy for some reason or other. God, that guy could do with a pair of balls.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he done to you?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Nothing. I just don¡¯t like him.¡±

    That was a good enough answer for me.

    ¡°I had everything all lined up,¡± I said. For proof, I picked up some of the papers and gestured to them.

    ¡°I can see that,¡± Ava replied, flatly.

    ¡°Do you think...¡± It came to me as I was speaking. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s giving it one last shot on his own?¡±

    Ava, who was sipping a drink and browsing through a magazine, said, ¡°Almost definitely.¡±

    I frowned. ¡°He really doesn¡¯t want me for this, does he?¡±

    ¡°Benji holds a wicked grudge,¡± Ava replied. ¡°Dude¡¯s just hateful. I don¡¯t know why.¡±

    I followed her eyes to the door. All I could do is shrug. ¡°Well, I guess I don¡¯t have anything else to do today.¡±

    Ava snapped to attention. ¡°Oh, right! I almost forgot to tell you. Remember how I keep complaining that there¡¯s no real bar here?¡±

    I didn¡¯t really remember that beyond a spare mention here or there, but I pretended I did. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Unit 3 finally pulled down the funding to get it built. It¡¯s in the basement, so it¡¯s a hike from here, but it exists. Self-serve, though, we¡¯re not hiring anyone to tend it.¡±

    ¡°Is it stocked?¡±

    ¡°Sure is,¡± Ava said. ¡°I checked it out this morning.¡±

    She seemed sober so I assumed she left it at ¡°checked.¡± And while Ava was a fairly heavy drinker, even by Unit 6 standards, she wasn¡¯t so far gone as to help herself before two o¡¯clock.

    ¡°I know a bunch of drinks and I¡¯ve got a decent head for coming up with stuff on the spot,¡± I said. ¡°My dad¡ªum¡ªtaught me that stuff. If you don¡¯t feel like helping yourself and I¡¯m around, let me know.¡±

    ¡°Will do,¡± Ava said. With a smile, nonetheless.

    Progress!

    I slid off my bed and started toward the door. ¡°Might as well take a look, right?¡±

    ¡°Have fun,¡± she replied, turning back to the magazine.

    0??0??0

    I checked out the bar; it was a bar. There wasn¡¯t a lot to say about it. The factory¡¯s basement was a big concrete wasteland underneath the main floor, but it didn¡¯t extend to the full size of the room above it. If I had to guess, it was a space around thirty feet long and wide, maybe a bit longer.

    All that was in there was old rusted-out factory equipment and a brand-new bartop with eight seats in front of a wide cabinet of various liquors. There was a rack holding some twenty glasses and beer mugs, a sink and a few small refrigerators. All of this was pushed up against the left wall from the entrance¡ªjust there, as the only thing in that space built new in twenty-five years.

    Kind of odd, to be sure, but a welcome addition to that place. The mini-fridge in Unit 6¡¯s barracks was never quite big enough.

    I went around the bar and peeked into some of the refrigerators back there. They had pretty much any mixer I could ask for back there. Briefly, I thought about the tuxedo vest I wore when I dealt¡ªand I said to myself, maybe tonight.

    Then I went back upstairs.

 27 - The Boundless Rage (2)

    The next day at noon, I was in Benji¡¯s beige sedan again, acutely aware of what I¡¯d felt the last time I was there and doing my best to ignore the sickening tinge in the corners of my eyes and the back of my throat.

    Halfway through the trip¡ªwhich was two and a half hours¡ªBenji finally decided to speak to me.

    ¡°You read all the stuff I sent you, right?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied.

    It wasn¡¯t clear to me how I should have proceeded from there. Did he want me to ask questions, or just do what I was told? What would make him hate me less? Would questioning the mission make me look capable and inquisitive, or would it just annoy him? I had my fair share of questions about this whole ordeal¡ªmostly surrounding the fact that Rochester was barely in our jurisdiction¡ªbut whether or not any questions were valid in Benji¡¯s mind was a question I could not answer.

    Before I came to a decision on it, he changed the subject. ¡°You know, Jan just wants me to throw you at all my problems.¡±

    ¡°Does he?¡± I asked, but it was mostly rhetorical. I figured Benji had been resisting having me help him for a while. I had more time off than anyone else in Unit 6, and I figured those were all days where Benji went out of his way to avoid including me in anything he was doing.

    Not that I could really blame him. As much as it hurt me, I¡¯d do the same if I was him and confronted with me.

    I wouldn¡¯t trust me, either.

    ¡°Yep,¡± he said, tapping the steering wheel more-or-less on beat with the song playing low on the radio. He took a hand off the wheel and started poking around through the center console, feeling around for something. ¡°Where did I¡ª¡±

    I opened the slot above the glove compartment and took out a pair of sunglasses. ¡°These?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, those,¡± he said. ¡°But, um, don¡¯t poke around my car.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t imagine what he was keeping in here that he¡¯d need to keep so secret, but that was a line I wasn¡¯t going to cross now. If this was Cygnus¡¯s car, or maybe Yoru¡¯s car, I could ask something like that, but right now I was laser-focused on getting Benji to like me again.

    Don¡¯t stir the pot, Erika.

    He plucked the sunglasses from my hand and put them on. ¡°What was I saying?¡±

    ¡°Something about Prochazka,¡± I said.

    ¡°You can call him Jan, too,¡± he replied. ¡°He¡¯s not here, not like he¡¯ll know.¡±

    I turned a bit red. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t want to.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he gonna do? Talk to you sternly?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I said, meekly.

    Benji shrugged. ¡°Well, I guess if that matters to you.¡±

    He went back to focusing on the road.

    I¡¯ve found that a good way to get people to like you is to invite them to talk about themselves at great length while you just sit there and don¡¯t interrupt them. For whatever reason, that makes people more inclined to talk to you in the future. It¡¯s a good way to score brownie points.

    Don¡¯t ask me why that works. I¡¯ve got no idea. I hate talking about myself, for the most part¡ªbut everyone else seems to enjoy it just fine.

    So I asked Benji an open-ended, benign question that I figured couldn¡¯t possibly make him angry. It was a slam-dunk easy thirty-to-forty minute time-killer.

    I asked him: ¡°You and Prochazka fought on opposite sides in Vietnam, right?¡±

    Benji smirked. ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°Did you ever see him?¡±

    ¡°See him? I mean, you didn¡¯t really ever see anyone in ¡®Nam,¡± Benji said. ¡°Barely saw my own company, let alone anyone else.¡±

    He chuckled a bit. ¡°You know what¡¯s fucking useless? Being a fire-key in a rainforest. I was pretty weak for the first year or so I was there, so I could barely light a match with my key, let alone do anything actually useful for the military. I was fucked up beyond all repair before the military got to me, so being in Vietnam didn¡¯t really do all that much for me. Satisfied some curiosities, I guess.¡±

    My plan was working, because he didn¡¯t give me a chance to cut in. ¡°I mean, to answer your question¡ªyeah, I saw him once, but nobody believed me. Finding out he existed for real after the war, and he was living in the country he hated, was both the funniest and most cathartic shit I¡¯d ever seen. I caught so much shit from my friends for believing in that legend. Anyway, every company had some variation on a story about Prochazka. Very few of them were flattering. People who respected him called him the Black Hurricane, people who didn¡¯t called him googer or nouk.¡±

    I didn¡¯t really know what those were, but I figured it was worth an explanation. ¡°Googer?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªdon¡¯t repeat that,¡± he said, chuckling. ¡°And one-thousand-percent don¡¯t let Prochazka hear you say that, or the other one. It¡¯s the only thing someone could say that would make that man roll up his sleeves and beat the shit out of someone.¡±

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    I swallowed. ¡°Noted.¡±

    ¡°Black Hurricane¡¯s probably okay if you¡¯re feeling saucy,¡± he added. ¡°I call him that occasionally. Never quite sure if he liked it or not, but at least it¡¯s not the other two.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªno thanks,¡± I said.

    ¡°Fair,¡± he said. ¡°Anyway, uh¡­yeah, everybody had their own version of a story about that fucker. People said he was a defected American, a defective American, a shaman from the Congo the Vietnamese hired to do voodoo magic on Americans, you know, dumb shit like that. I mean, the real story about him was almost as weird, right? I mean¡ªsaying he was a black Czech guy who was born in like 1906 or some shit, looked not a day over twenty-five, and could blast people around with air like they were fuckin¡¯ leaves, and was an actual supporter of actual-factual communism would probably have blown as many gaskets as that last story. But like, half my company were good ol¡¯ boys, so they weren¡¯t too keen on me either, especially the older ones who¡¯d seen a bit of Korea and didn¡¯t have a good eye for the differences, so telling wacky varyingly-racist stories about Prochazka was pretty much the only thing that kept us from tearing out each others¡¯ throats when it was ninety-five and wet enough to drink the air. We said that Prochazka had done right about everything¡ªmostly shit that we wished we could do. He could throw a tank a hundred yards into the air. He could dismember a man with a sneer. He could teleport, he could outrun Superman, he could go sixteen weeks without food or water, he could fly, he could burst men like soap bubbles, he could walk on water, he was immune to landmines, he left no footsteps, he was a ghost, he was a demon, he was an angel sent to punish us for our sins¡ªshit like that, you know? We were schoolyard boys talking about this guy. He could do anything in our imaginations. He was the face of the enemy¡ªsomeone so unknowably powerful that he could do anything, someone so unseeable that he didn¡¯t exist, someone so anti-American that he must have been a tool of Satan himself. I think one of the papers published a story, a sort of on-the-ground slice-of-life story about us, and they talked about the communist Superman we all talked about. God¡ªif they found out he was real¡­¡±

    Benji shook his head, lost in the thought for a second.

    ¡°You know, sometimes I think about what it¡¯d have been like if we had you while they had him,¡± he said, suddenly, shifting a bit in his seat. ¡°Imagine the CIA shows up in 1970, and we¡¯re getting our shit kicked in, mind you, and they tell us they¡¯ve been genetically-engineering this kid for the expressed purpose of rolling heads in ¡®Nam, and they roll a big crate off a truck and pop the lid and out climbs¡ªwell, a thirteen-year-old girl who can drown people while they¡¯re standing still. CIA tells us to say nothing about whatever they see you do, or their loved ones will find out all about how they committed suicide via two gunshot wounds to the head. And then the war basically just comes down to you against him, and¡ªwell¡ªI don¡¯t know if we win that version of the war, I don¡¯t know if I want to win that version of the war, to be honest. I don¡¯t know if I want to be in a version of the war where the only reason we win is because a thirteen-year-old girl with water powers bails out the United States military, and I don¡¯t know if I want to be in a version of the war where I have to watch another thirteen-year-old girl get shot in the head.¡±

    He paused for half a second, then went on: ¡°Well, I got out in 1973, and I went around doing random shit for a few years, turned into something of an anti-war hippie about four years too late for any kind of notoriety for being one, settled around Albany for a while. Kept my key real secret. See¡ªI know now it doesn¡¯t seem like it, but for three years around the turn of the decade back then, knowledge of magic right about got out. It was pretty well known among folks on the ground in Vietnam that the CIA was doing something funky to help us get ahead, since it sure didn¡¯t seem like we were doing shit, and what little intelligence we had told us that the VC were doing something similar. It was all they could do to keep the war reporters from blowing the lid of the damn thing. And, well¡ªsometimes I kind of wish we did expose magic to the world back then, because I think if we did and we ended up winning the war, well, that was our only shot at having the public know about magic and all of us not getting rounded up and shot.¡±

    He frowned. ¡°Uh, right. I did see Prochazka once. I got separated from my company during an ambush, and since I figured I was alone I was all-clear to go full self-preservation mode, if you get my drift, so I dropped my gun and set both my hands on fire and I was ready to burn down the whole fucking forest if I had to, and through I clearing I saw him¡ªthis black guy in VC camo, and there was a whirlwind of leaves and sticks and shit around him. And I knew the legend so I knew that was the guy, and we just sort of stared at each other for a second. And¡ªswear to God¡ªhe shot a gust of wind at me so fast and so pinpoint that all it did was extinguish my hands. Barely fluttered my shirt. No idea how he did it, but it was sobering, let me tell you. I thought I was hot shit because I could make a fireball, and here was this guy making me look like an amateur. This was, uh, maybe June of 1969, or something like that. And we just stood there, him looking at me with this little smile, you know the one, it¡¯s basically Bell¡¯s default face. And I was just standing there stunned, and then¡ªget this¡ªhe goddamn saluted me and disappeared. I blinked and he was just gone. I think right then, yeah, right then was when I knew we didn¡¯t have a snowball¡¯s chance in hell at winning the war. They had that guy. And that guy was real, and all the US army had for magical people was a sorry excuse for a fire key like myself. I just remember blinking, seeing him disappear, and thinking to myself, Lord help us¡ªwe¡¯ve got no outs.

    ¡°I knew we were gonna lose, but I gave making myself stronger every bit of effort I had so I could kill that guy if I saw him again. I wanted to burn that stupid smirk off his face so bad that I fought him in my dreams, and I knew I was so hopelessly outclassed that most of the time, even in my dreams, I¡¯d still lose.¡±

    He fell quiet again, switched lanes to get around an old person driving the speed limit. ¡°So after the war I was living in Albany, trying to pretend like none of that ever happened. Lots of folks like me out there, pretending nothing happened. See, we all believed in magic in 1969, all of us. All the folks in the war knew that there was magic at work making that shit unwinnable, and all the folks back here knew there was magic at work making their fellow man into bloodthirsty animals, and they knew there had to be magic in the air to make the world make sense again. And well, I guess that went on until Reagan, or something, and then everyone stopped believing in magic again. But for maybe fifteen years there, from the mid-sixties until, I don¡¯t know, late seventies or so¡ªwe were all dead sure that there were forces beyond our control swinging the planet this way and that, and we all just agreed to never talk about it. And, God, I wish we did. I wish we shouted it from the rooftops, because the world is too damn small now for magic to stay hidden for much longer, and all it takes is for one wackjob to make a video on Twitter and have it be convincing enough and stay up long enough to go viral to break the fa?ade. It takes one lunatic with a flesh key to walk into a crowd and slaughter a thousand people to ruin it for the rest of us. Back then was the closest we ever got to the world accepting magic, because it would¡¯ve just been another item on the list of bullshit, and we all kind of wanted it, anyway. And I guess I just don¡¯t know enough about folks your age to know if they¡¯re craving that same thing we craved. If y¡¯all feel like you need magic to make your lives make sense.¡±

    ¡°I did,¡± I said, quietly.

    ¡°And does it? Now?¡± he asked me. There was no accusing tone. He just wanted to know. ¡°Does all this shit make sense to you now?¡±

    And I said, ¡°No.¡±

 28 - The Boundless Rage (3)

    After a few quiet minutes he said, ¡°Shit, I forgot to finish the story.¡±

    I snapped out of my thoughts and glanced at him so he knew I was listening, and then he went on. ¡°Roundabout 1981, Albany wasn¡¯t too great of a city. I was getting robbed at gunpoint after a night drinking, I was walking home alone, and I was so drunk that I sort of relapsed into Vietnam-mode, and I just lit my hand on fire and burned the guy to the ground. So hot and so fast that the guy didn¡¯t even get a real chance to scream. Stuck my hands in my pockets and walked away. Nobody saw me do it, nobody ever caught me. It was a local legend for a while. I¡¯m sure you can find it on conspiracy-theory websites about spontaneous combustion or something.¡±

    My eyes went wide. ¡°That was you?¡±

    He blinked. ¡°Wait, you heard about that?¡±

    ¡°Kids used to talk about it in school occasionally,¡± I said. ¡°It was one of the scary stories we told.¡±

    ¡°Forgot that you grew up in Albany,¡± he said, and after a little chuckle, added: ¡°Damn. Still got it, huh?¡± He smiled a bit. Probably for the first time in my presence. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was something, and it made my heart bloom warm.

    I was doing it! Really doing it!

    I was gonna make it!

    His smile faded, but only a little. ¡°So I did that, and I guess there were rumors about a spontaneous combustion happening, but nobody I talked to ever accused me of doing it. Then, a few days go by and I get a letter in the mail. Read the damn thing so many times I¡¯ve got it memorized. It said: ¡°To resident¡ªI would like to begin by saying that I am not accusing you of anything, nor do I have any intention of reporting you to any authorities. I have reason to believe that you are behind the spontaneous combustion of Edwin Watts, and furthermore, I believe we have met before. Now that the war is done, we are simply citizens, and I would be interested in speaking to you civilly, as man to man. I trust that we will have a lot to talk about if you decide to meet me. I will be on a park bench in Washington Park by the water on June 17<sup>th</sup>, from six o¡¯clock PM until nine¡ªI believe you will know me when you see me. I will not be there at any other time, and I will not contact you again. That said, I¡¯m looking forward to meeting you, and I can only imagine you¡¯re looking forward to meeting me. Signed, the Black Hurricane.

    ¡°And I thought this was some kind of joke, right? But that was after work, so I figured, what the hell¡ªI¡¯ll go over there and see what¡¯s up, and if it¡¯s just some kid playing a joke on me, I could always threaten him into silence pretty easily. So around seven o¡¯clock I headed over there, and I knew him as soon as I saw the back of his head. I wasn¡¯t afraid, even though I probably should have been¡ªI just saw it as catharsis for twelve years of insanity. I knew I saw him, but in ¡®Nam that meant fuckall. Lots of people saw lots of things. But I knew¡ªI knew he was real. Everyone had a story about seeing the Black Hurricane but I knew, for myself, that he was there. I insisted on it when everyone else laughed theirs off. Made me look like a bitch, but I stood by it because I knew how weak he made me feel in that moment. How wrong he made me feel for being there. Like I was beating at the tides with a baseball bat. I had to see the man again. I don¡¯t think I ever had a choice to not see him.

    ¡°So I sat down on the bench next to him, and I didn¡¯t look. I just looked out at the pond. And next to me he said, ¡°Benjamin Kozaki?¡±

    And I just nodded. And then he turned to me, and I turned to him, and he was there, it was him, and all at once my heart dropped into my stomach and my brain turned inside out. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve ever gotten validation like that, but¡­¡±

    ¡°I have,¡± I said, even more quietly than before. It was so quiet that Benji didn¡¯t stop for me.

    ¡°¡­he extended his hand, and I shook it, and he told me his name was Jan Prochazka, and that he was a Czech citizen who was born in 1906, fought for the Soviets in World War II, and afterward spent ten years travelling Asia and preaching about communism before settling in Vietnam. War broke out and he took up arms. He told me he¡¯d always liked war. It was the only thing that truly made sense to him.

    ¡°And¡ªmy God, did I relate to that.¡±

    Benji stopped talking, for a second. He turned the car off an exit.

    ¡°Now, I¡¯m not a commie, I think communism is kinda stupid, but I was in such awe at this man that I wasn¡¯t gonna argue politics with him. He was twice the man I¡¯d ever be. We talked about the war for a long time¡ªhours, and I mean it was close to midnight when we stopped. I went from wanting to slaughter that guy in some backwater ritual fashion to him being my closest friend in five hours. He asked me if I was interested in helping him, and at that point I would¡¯ve followed him to the ends of the earth, so I said yes before he even explained to me what we¡¯d be doing. Then he said he was going to start an organization that tracked and policed people like us, because he wasn¡¯t sure what would happen if America found out, if the world found out, and he didn¡¯t want to experience that future if he thought he had a snowball¡¯s chance of stopping it. And that was a cause I sure could get behind. So I shook hands on it, quit my job at the steel plant the next morning, and we founded the Radiant.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why I was so hurt when he put you on my team. I trusted him so fully. I trusted him with my life. And putting a twelve-year-old girl on my team felt like a violation of everything I thought we both believed in. To me, this was always about protecting people like us from people like us¡ªprotecting the seven against the three, I guess. Justice isn¡¯t much of a consideration anymore. When you get to my age, you stop caring about that kind of thing.¡±

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I couldn¡¯t imagine not caring about justice. I tried to think about what would happen to Cygnus if he heard what Benji just said. What would he do? What would be left?

    Nothing, I thought. No¡ªI didn¡¯t think. I knew. Certain.

    ¡°How?¡± I asked Benji, quiet.

    ¡°How what?¡±

    ¡°How do you stop caring about justice? Isn¡¯t that¡ªisn''t that the whole point?¡±

    Benji shrugged. He held the steering wheel with one hand, the other limp at his side. Leaning all the way back like he had not a care in the world.

    ¡°The whole point? I mean, maybe for Cygnus it is, but it¡¯s not for me. I do this because I feel obligated to, now. I don¡¯t think I could quit even if I wanted to. Without us, and by ¡°us¡± I mean everyone who does what we do across the whole planet¡ªwithout us, the ones just trying to get by would be hunted down by the government and slaughtered. When was the last time America took steps to really understand a new problem rather than just point some guns at it?¡±

    I had no response. My mind was blank.

    Benji said, ¡°Exactly. Sometimes we¡¯ve got to do things that, well, that don¡¯t sit well on the mind, but when the alternative is that we all die, it gets easier. It used to be about justice for me, Erika, but after a while you just can¡¯t reconcile justice with shooting a sixteen-year-old kid in the head because he got a fire key and wanted to burn down his school.¡±

    My eyes dropped to the floor. I stopped moving, and maybe even stopped breathing.

    He ignored me. ¡°You can¡¯t think about justice when a young mother of two sons loses one in a car accident, gets a flesh-key, and starts looking at the other one in a weird way, and¡ªsurprise¡ªyou''re just a teensy bit too late. Justice only matters when there¡¯s people to save. With magical crime, you can¡¯t really stop it. It happens, in a flash, and then people are dead or scarred forever, and half the time you¡¯ve gotta kill the victims too to stop them from talking because all of the telepaths in our area keep getting drafted by the Buffalo gang and New York and probably Loybol, too, if I¡¯m honest. The system gives broken people keys and half the time they go ahead and do broken-people things with them. Who would¡¯ve thought?¡±

    He frowned. ¡°If it seems like I¡¯m bitter about the whole telepath thing, I am. In case you missed that or whatever.¡±

    I did not miss it. For the record.

    ¡°The alternative to just mopping up after people forever is to try and predict when people are going to do terrible things. Loybol does this via having a ton of telepaths and a relatively small, densely-populated area to patrol. We do it by watching social media for keywords and getting lucky. Otherwise you¡¯re just doing something to make yourself feel good, and isn¡¯t that the literal textbook definition of being selfish?¡±

    Benji sighed. The fire that had been creeping into his voice drifted away. He repeated: ¡°Justice only matters when there¡¯s people to save.¡±

    He shook his head, and his voice got a little lower. I stared off at the road in front of me. Unsure how I managed to fuck this one up, too.

    ¡°When he drafted you, I felt...I don¡¯t even know how I felt. Violated? I sure felt like something¡¯d been violated. Maybe it was me, or it was my trust in him, or it was the integrity of the Radiant or something, I don¡¯t know, I just felt like shit. I felt like we were scraping the bottom of the barrel. And, well, he assured me that you were so far above the barrel you were embedded in the ceiling, but I didn¡¯t believe him, because¡ªGod, Erika, look at you.¡±

    I looked at my feet. They looked like shoes. Worn white sneakers, the same pair I¡¯d had since I arrived. Terrible in the rain, comfortable enough. They¡¯d gone gray from use and dirt and soot, but they still fit me just fine, and while I had more than enough money to afford another pair, I didn¡¯t feel like going through the trouble of breaking in something new.

    The key was stunting my growth, according to Sophia, so I¡¯d be able to fit in those sneakers for a while yet. She said I wouldn¡¯t look eighteen until I was forty or more.

    So I looked at me.

    He went on: ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just half the man he is, so I¡¯ll only understand half his mind. But I just didn¡¯t get it. And, I mean¡­¡±

    He trailed off. I expected a follow-up, but I got nothing.

    I thought about the mission, and it occurred to me that I never found out what exactly it was I¡¯d be doing. I assumed it was going to be just like last time. Now that I was thinking about it, and presumably Benji was thinking about it, the warmth between us in the car we¡¯d worked so hard to cultivate was swept out like the windows were wide open.

    I asked him, point blank: ¡°Benji¡ªwhat am I supposed to do with Marie?¡±

    He did not respond.

    We spoke only briefly, about little nothings, between then and our arrival.

    0             0             0

    I¡¯m not stupid. I figured it out pretty quickly. In the back of my mind, I think I always knew.

    We arrived at the designated meeting place¡ªan empty warehouse on the edge of town, which only further confirmed my suspicions about my role in all of this¡ªand we entered it in silence.

    Through the door, onto the warehouse floor. Above us were some catwalks and office spaces and such. It wasn¡¯t strictly just a warehouse, but it mostly was.

    In the center of the room stood Marie Kilmer, hands folded in front of her. She was small, but still taller than me. Brown hair she¡¯d tied back. She looked like a teacher¡ªmodestly dressed, glasses and everything¡ªand she¡¯d really look unassuming if she didn¡¯t look so tired. Her skin stretched over her face was a bit too yellow, and her eyes were bloodshot. She wasn¡¯t quite standing still, either¡ªswaying a little. Maybe she was drunk, or maybe she was malnourishing herself, I couldn¡¯t tell at the time.

    Either way, she looked unwell.

    Benji shoved his hands in his pockets. He hadn¡¯t told me to stay behind, so I followed him right up to about fifteen feet away from her.

    ¡°Hello, Marie,¡± Benji said.

    "Hello,¡± she replied. Despite the stress, her voice was clear and calm¡ªthe measure and evenness from teaching, I supposed. ¡°You brought your daughter, I see. Maybe hoping that would make me feel guilty. Low, Benji, that¡¯s low.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Benji said, simply. There was no tone in his voice. No righteous fire like last time. He sounded as tired as Marie looked¡ªtwo halves standing apart from each other. ¡°She¡¯s not my daughter.¡±

    ¡°Some girl off the street, then,¡± Marie said.

    Benji shrugged. ¡°Close enough.¡±

    ¡°Well? Go on.¡± Marie turned to me, now. ¡°Make your case.¡±

    Her eyes reminded me of Bell¡¯s. Red and grayish, dry and dead.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have a case,¡± Benji said.

    ¡°Then what¡¯s the point?¡± Marie asked. ¡°This guilt-trip bullshit, it¡¯s not going to work. I told you. I don¡¯t care. I don¡¯t anymore.¡±

    ¡°I know,. We talked at length already.¡±

    ¡°So you took a full day to find a girl to put in front of me as a last ditch effort to make me¡­do what? Not feel? Feel? I¡ªI don¡¯t get it.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to get,¡± Benji said.

    ¡°Spit it out, then. Why¡¯s she here?¡±

    Benji looked at her, then looked at me. He took a hand out of his pocket and patted me on the shoulder¡ªwhich made me laser-snap to attention, tensing everything I had.

    ¡°Kill her,¡± he said to me.

    Then he took his hand off my shoulder, put it back in his pocket, and walked out of the warehouse.

 29 - The Boundless Rage (4)

    Marie and I just stared at each other.

    ¡°Kill me with what?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m a water key, like you,¡± I said. For emphasis, I slowly drew all the water out of the water bottle in my hand and let it circle around my wrists. The empty bottle slipped from my fingers, and the hollow clack of it hitting the floor was loud enough to make us both wince.

    ¡°How old are you?¡± Marie asked.

    ¡°Thirteen,¡± I replied. ¡°I¡¯m turning fourteen in June.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re¡ªChrist, you¡¯re the same age as my students.¡±

    I didn¡¯t know how to react to that, but I felt like I had to say something.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said, limply. ¡°About the crash.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that matters now,¡± Marie replied, and her voice was so hollow and dead that I believed her.

    We both fell quiet again. I was used to this by now¡ªit happens a lot when two keys end up meeting face-to-face. They just stare at each other because they know the first one to move dies.

    And now we were both there, and I could tell¡ªfrom the blank look she wore and my own almost complete disinterest¡ªthat we knew. I knew I¡¯d be faster than her, even if she was a bit above average. I was a raging tsunami, the force of a hurricane, and she was most likely less than that. Maybe a waterspout, if I¡¯m being generous.

    So I wasn¡¯t scared, per se. The only thing that stopped me from just shooting her and walking out was the question of why Benji left the warehouse.

    ¡°Why did he leave?¡± Marie asked.

    ¡°I was just thinking that,¡± I replied.

    ¡°He trusts you to kill me without supervision, I guess.¡±

    ¡°I can. I have.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡±

    She frowned, but not out of frustration. She kept looking at me¡ªshe had to, because if she stopped to look at the floor, she was dead.

    But her face went limp. Shoulders drooped.

    I expected her to ask to die.

    What she said instead was, ¡°You know, I used to think I¡¯d just gone crazy. Now, though, I guess I didn¡¯t. I guess this is, really, all actually happening.¡±

    ¡°You get used to it,¡± I said.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ll ever get the chance,¡± Marie replied.

    ¡°Probably not,¡± was my best response.

    ¡°I think I wish I was crazy,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe then I wouldn¡¯t be so...so...I don¡¯t know. Aware? In the moment? I wish I was dissociating right now. It would make this whole thing a lot easier.¡±

    ¡°Are you afraid to die?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± Marie said, with a tiny nervous chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m not. God, can you imagine going on after all of this? After the things I''ve said. What I claimed I was going to do. What, in all honestly, I probably would do if I somehow managed to walk out of here with my head attached. I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know anymore. None of this¡ªnone of this stuff makes any sense to me.¡±

    And I felt a little pang of guilt in my chest for what I was going to do, because the truth is that none of this stuff really made all that much sense to me, either. I¡¯d carved a path through it for myself¡ªof things I understood, and bits here and there I could swallow as truths¡ªbut beyond my road there was a whole word of nuance and gray that was lost on me.

    I kept to my lane and didn¡¯t ask questions. I had to, or the whole thing would fall apart, and I¡¯d forget where I was. Maybe who I was.

    I forced myself to swallow the feeling. I wasn¡¯t allowed to think of Marie that way. It would blur my path.

    She snickered, again¡ªa small, almost insectile noise. There was no humor in it. ¡°Look at me. Trying to stop myself from swearing. God. Like you¡¯re actually a fucking kid. A kid in my class. Jesus. What happened to me?¡±

    Marie swallowed. ¡°Maybe I am crazy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re not crazy. This is happening.¡±

    She shook her head with an empty smile, uncomprehending.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen a lot of crazy people,¡± I said. ¡°In my day. Lots of people less lucid than you.¡±

    ¡°Maybe if I try really hard, I can go insane just in time to not feel it when you bury an icicle in my skull,¡± she said.

    ¡°Maybe.¡±

    ¡°Not like it matters. You¡¯re probably crazy, too.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± I said. ¡°Do you believe in parallel universes?¡±

    ¡°If I say yes, will you keep talking?¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°One hundred percent, I believe in those,¡± she said.

    ¡°I think this is one of the only timelines where I don¡¯t go insane,¡± I said. ¡°Every time I think about where I came from, I think about...about how much the odds were stacked against me to turn out alright. I would¡¯ve been damaged beyond repair if I didn¡¯t get a key. If I didn¡¯t run away from home. If I didn¡¯t join the Radiant. If I didn¡¯t meet everyone in Unit 6. I¡ªI have friends, now. For pretty much the first time ever. It¡¯s...God, Marie, it¡¯s amazing. I feel like a human being. I didn¡¯t know what it was like before, but now...now I¡¯ve got it all, and it¡¯s so good.¡±

    I blinked a few times. See¡ªthere''s this really convenient thing about being a water-key: nobody ever has to see you cry if you don¡¯t want them to. They were welling up¡ªjust from thinking about everything I¡¯d gained¡ªand with barely a thought I wicked them away, and I was whole again.

    Whole and powerful. Invincible and unmovable.

    She continued to look at me, uncomprehendingly. ¡°Maybe you just haven¡¯t gone insane yet.¡±

    ¡°Odds are against that, I think.¡±

    ¡°Look at yourself,¡± Marie said. ¡°Thirteen years old and you¡¯re on the kill squad for that piece of shit. How many people have you slaughtered? For him?¡±

    I shrugged. I truly did not know.

    I expected her to berate me for it. Maybe with some last bit of bravado generated from staring into the pit.

    Instead, she asked: ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Erika Hanover,¡± I said. She was a dead woman, what did it matter?

    Marie blinked, surprised.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she replied. ¡°That explains a lot.¡±

    ¡°What does?¡±

    ¡°My friend¡ªum¡ªhe was an eighth-grade math teacher at the middle school in Red Creek,¡± she said. ¡°A year and a half or so back he said a student went missing and that they never found her. It was really sad, because she was one of the weird kids, so everyone just assumed she¡¯d killed herself. Guess that was you. At least you¡¯re not dead, right?¡±

    I froze solid. All I could do was barely squeak out a repetition: ¡°At least I¡¯m not dead.¡±

    She continued: ¡°The school had a candlelight vigil for you. Bunch of kids and teachers spoke at it. Lots of people claiming to be your friend, very few who actually had anything concrete to say.¡±

    I went so red it was almost difficult to see straight. It was all I could do to not take her head off there just so I could stop hearing about it.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have a whole lot of friends, did you?¡±

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    I shook my head. I¡¯d already said that to her. It was a redundant question. Mocking me.

    She was mocking me.

    ¡°Any?¡± she pried.

    ¡°No.¡±

    She nodded, slowly. ¡°Couple of kids in my classes like you. I¡¯m just¡ªI can¡¯t look at you and not think about what would happen if they got keys. On one hand, I don¡¯t want them to feel powerless anymore, because I want them to succeed¡ªI really, honestly, truly do¡ªand I look at them and I see how they¡¯re struggling and I want to help, I really do, but...God, middle school kids are fucking vicious. There¡¯s just not a lot we can do. Policies don¡¯t matter. Punishments don¡¯t matter. I¡ªI wonder how many of those kids fantasize about killing their bullies, and I wonder how many of them are close enough to the brink that they¡¯d actually do it if they could do it remotely, without a chance of getting caught.¡±

    She let her breath out slow. Then she asked me: ¡°Did you?¡±

    ¡°Think about it?¡±

    Marie nodded.

    I thought about shooting her again. Right then. I¡¯d never have to say what I thought. Never have to deal with the consequence of that day. I could bottle it up forever, and it would stay there, because the only person that could end me was me, and therefore the world was mine to do with what I pleased.

    There would be no secret-spilling if I didn¡¯t allow it.

    But then I recalled the man in that house on High Street back home, some year and a half ago now, and I figured that if I was the only person alive who remembered what I said, then it didn¡¯t matter if I said it or not. I would get to say it to another person, and experience whatever experience there was to gain from that, and then that person would disappear, and I¡¯d never have to deal with the aftermath.

    It was like practice. It made perfect sense.

    So I said, ¡°I did. I¡ªI got my key on my twelfth birthday. I woke up that morning and I saw it, and I just automatically knew what it meant, as¡ªas I¡¯m sure you did, too, right?¡±

    Marie made an affirmative grunt.

    ¡°And as soon as I touched it, I knew I was going to go to school and¡ªand do it. I needed to. It was the only thing that could make my life make sense. Without it, I¡ªI would¡¯ve suffered for no reason. That, um, that was what I thought at the time. So, I went downstairs and my dad was still passed out on the couch from the night before, so I just¡ªI made myself breakfast and put the TV on, and there was some superhero cartoon on, and I don¡¯t even really remember what it was, but I sat on the floor in front of the TV with my bowl of cereal and I...¡±

    The image was clearer than reality: cross-legged on the shag carpet in front of the sixty-inch monster that was such a hit to my dad¡¯s meager paycheck that he had to do two years of payments on it. He was dead to the world behind me; but in front, there was a bright and beautiful world where good always won and evil was always petty and simple.

    I remember watching the last fifteen minutes of that cartoon and I realized that if I did what I wanted to do, I would become the villain. I would be the petty mustache-twiddler that a man in a cape would eventually dispatch with a simple flick of his finger.

    Like so many times before, my rage suffocated and died in my throat. Still impossible. Even with the key. Even with my boundless power. In the self I saw in my memory, I watched my shoulders slump like Marie¡¯s did a few moments before as I came to my conclusion.

    I watched myself wither.

    ¡°I realized that I was...that I was giving up. If I did what I wanted to do. I could be so much more than just a killer if I...if I walked away. The strongest thing I could do was walk away. The best revenge I could get was¡ªwas to do nothing. To vanish from their lives. And go off somewhere, forever, and be someone else somewhere else. I didn¡¯t have to be the Erika I was. I could be someone else.¡±

    For thirty minutes that day morning, I was an unstoppable force of nature, but nobody would ever know. My dad wouldn¡¯t even see me leave. Wouldn¡¯t see me quietly slip out the door with a plastic shopping bag of various foods and a change of clothes. He wouldn¡¯t ever see me again.

    In front of the TV that pale misty June morning, I wilted.

    I couldn¡¯t help myself. I couldn¡¯t hold eye contact for any longer.

    I looked at the floor, and as soon as I did so cold electricity shout though my whole body and I looked up again, but Marie hadn¡¯t moved. She was just waiting.

    I forced myself to keep looking at her. I could do this. This was easy¡ªsomeone invincible shouldn¡¯t struggle with eye contact.

    Not like any of this mattered, anyway. Marie would die and I would go on. This story would be lost to the air and I would walk away from it. I would never return here, and the dust of my words would haunt this place for me forever, but I¡¯d never come back, so it wouldn¡¯t matter.

    Nuclear waste buried in a mountain. Out of sight, out of mind.

    I turned red again. Why was I talking about this? Why bother dredging up all these memories? What good was it doing me? Marie wasn¡¯t a therapist. She wasn¡¯t supposed to help me.

    What was I building up to? I had no idea at the time. An apology? An ice-bullet to the brain?

    Or was I just going to walk away from Marie, like I walked away two years ago?

    The indecision of it paralyzed me. I had to actively move my jaw to force words over my tongue. I wanted to stand there stock-still and wait for Marie to do something. To direct me, so I could react and go on from there.

    But that was something the old Erika would do. The automaton Erika who only reacted, because she was incapable of autonomy.

    When I was twelve years old, I was given a present beyond my wildest dreams. One to make up for all the lost gifts I¡¯d missed. All the hardships I¡¯d endured. All the pain and loneliness and everything that makes a child¡¯s life hollow.

    And I¡ª

    ¡°I was wrong,¡± I spat.

    I balled up my fists. Shaking. Iron-planted to where I stood.

    ¡°I should have gone to school,¡± I growled. Through clenched teeth. ¡°I should have stood outside the windows and picked off, one by one, all the people who hurt me. I could pull water out of the faucet in the lab. I had it all planned out. In the thirty minutes when it was still possible, I figured out¡ªexactly¡ªwhat I was going to do, and I blew it. I fucked it all up. And it¡¯s too late now. I can¡¯t go back. I should have done it.¡±

    ¡°But you didn¡¯t,¡± Marie said, quietly.

    I expected the fire to subside.

    It did not.

    ¡°I should have. I needed to.¡±

    Marie looked me in the eyes. It was all I could do to meet it.

    I was wrong. She didn¡¯t have Bell¡¯s eyes. In Bell¡¯s eyes, there was nothing¡ªbut in Marie¡¯s there was resignation. No life, but they weren¡¯t lifeless on purpose like Bell¡¯s. In Marie¡¯s, there was defeat. Emptiness.

    Void¡ªbut now, a tiny glimmer of something else.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy you didn¡¯t,¡± Marie said, barely above a whisper.

    That was it. That was all I could take.

    My fist leapt upward and I shot three, six¡ªmaybe as many as ten, I don¡¯t know¡ªbullets of ice dead center into her forehead. The first one shattered her skull; the rest made sure it was shapeless mush by the time she hit the ground.

    She dropped. Essentially headless.

    I pulled moisture from her corpse to replenish the ring around my hand, and then I turned around and went to the door.

    0             0             0

    I was seething rage. I was known¡ªand pitied¡ªfor what? By who?

    Who was Marie to say what I should and should not have done? The one regret I carried¡ªthe one mistake I made in two years that was truly irredeemable¡ªwas not carrying out that act of vengeance while I still could.

    I couldn¡¯t go back now. It was too far gone. Two years of separation was too much. And God forbid someone recognized me, sent me back to my father.

    No. I had to deal with that unseized opportunity forever.

    The audacity¡ª

    The nerve¡ª

    I couldn¡¯t think straight.

    At the time, I had no idea where all of that came from. I¡¯d never once been that angry, not in my whole life. But right then I was mad enough to slaughter the world.

    Not even in hindsight can I really say why I was so mad. It was Marie¡¯s fault¡ªand why she had to die, even if I was going to kill her anyway¡ªbut why exactly it was her fault was beyond my simple machinery.

    I couldn¡¯t say. It just was. It had to be.

    I stepped out into the sun engulfed by rage. Fists clenched so tight my knuckles hurt. I wanted to kill. I wanted to put someone in the ground. Nothing else would do. Nothing else could sate me.

    There were six bodies out there¡ªone of them was Benji. The other, standing close behind him, held some kind of metal object, and that was as far as I got before I decided that I didn¡¯t know any of them except for Benji and that they all needed to die.

    I went from one footstep into the sun into firing an ice bullet directly into the eye of the man standing behind Benji¡ªit wasn¡¯t quite a direct hit, but it was enough to make him back off, at which point Benji twisted around, lit both of his hands on fire and ripped off the man¡¯s ear. Glared at him as the right half of his face dissolved.

    The world was slow and simple as the other five zapped to attention. Another fire-key, a nature-key, and two with nothing; Benji had already handled the last one on his own.

    For the two with nothing, I had ice bullets¡ªin the eye and dead-center through the forehead¡ªbefore they could draw their guns.

    I turned to the fire-key, and he was breathing heavily¡ªand I felt the moisture, and I grabbed onto it and followed it down to the source, inside him, and I pulled it out. With every exhale more and more water left his body, and from the heat he was generating around himself to protect from an ice-bullet, he boiled.

    Benji just watched it happen. It took maybe three seconds to kill the others, but for this last one I let him scream for fifteen.

    When it was done, there was a dry husk.

    And then, I suppose, I felt better. Or at least, I wasn¡¯t angry anymore. Everything was back to normal. All good.

    The rage was gone, and I looked around at everything I¡¯d done and felt nothing.

    I looked at Benji and said, ¡°Marie¡¯s dead. Let¡¯s go home.¡±

    Benji stared back at me.

    0             0             0

    In the car, on the highway again. We did not speak for twenty-five minutes. Benji had eyes for the road and nothing else. He held the steering wheel with both hands. Laser-focused to the dotted lines.

    When he finally spoke again, he said: ¡°What did Marie say to you?¡±

    I didn¡¯t feel like playing games. That act of pulling the moisture out of someone is certainly theatrical, but its practicality is limited, and it¡¯s very draining. I might be the only water-key alive who can do it without passing out, so I feel obligated to show it off whenever I can. It¡¯s the one thing I can do that I think Bell would like.

    The adrenaline was swirling down the drain.

    I felt like last time¡ªI knew saying the wrong thing would make Benji snap again. But this time I saved his life; this time, I won. His anger was misplaced. It was invalid. I was right, finally, unequivocally, and there was nothing anyone could say or do to counter me.

    So I answered him plainly. Closing my eyes just to rest them. ¡°She knew who I was.¡±

    I left off the ¡°before,¡± because I thought it was obvious, but Benji just shook his head like he didn¡¯t understand, so I clarified. He said, ¡°I know,¡± and didn¡¯t elaborate any more.

    Fifteen minutes from home, he spoke again.

    ¡°Erika,¡± he said.

    ¡°Yeah?¡± I asked. I didn¡¯t look at him¡ªI was counting the lit streetlamps whizzing by, one by one. Even though my eyes were closed, that dark field of vision would flood orange whenever we passed one¡ªa soft rhythmic pulse inside my head.

    It was only sundown but I was already thinking about crawling into bed.

    Benji said, ¡°I figured it out.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Why this is so hard for me.¡±

    He didn¡¯t look at me, so I didn¡¯t look at him. We were speaking to ourselves, or maybe to nobody, but certainly not to each other, and certainly not with the intent of having a conversation.

    He spoke to the road. I spoke to the glove compartment. It just happened that our halves aligned¡ªbut we really didn¡¯t have any interest in what the other had to say.

    I¡¯m not sure we ever did.

    I waited for Benji to say what he meant. What he figured out.

    But instead we drove the rest of the way home in absolute silence.

 30 - The Panic Switch

    {March 14th}

    My new set of contacts came in. A little thicker, a little stronger. Another two months, another stronger pair.

    It wasn¡¯t getting better. Everything else was, but that wasn¡¯t.

    I did my best to not think about it. It would stop eventually. It had to, right? These things didn¡¯t just devolve into nothing. At a certain point your eyesight would get as bad as it would get, and then you¡¯d get a pair of contacts or glasses that worked just right and everything would be fine and dandy.

    But a whole year had gone by and I was still getting new ones. Stronger ones. It wasn¡¯t accelerating, but it wasn¡¯t getting better, either.

    I barely went seconds without having them in. At night I would take them out and put them in solution one by one, and as soon as one of them came out, that eye was closed until morning. In the morning I¡¯d grope around in the dark for the cup, carefully as to not knock it over, and I¡¯d slip the contacts in so quickly after opening my eyes that it would almost be like I didn¡¯t notice that everything was blurry for the half-second they weren¡¯t in.

    But I did notice. It was a view of the void. I could see myself die, a little bit at a time. Without sight, I was nothing. That wasn¡¯t something I could change¡ªit was a fact. It was as true as breathing.

    One morning I caught sight of that blur as I put the contacts in and I realized, the feeling carving a chasm under my ribs, that I didn¡¯t have sixteen years¡ªI probably had closer to two or three. Beyond that, no curvature of a lens could save me.

    At that point I¡¯d be better off just cutting them out and replacing them with something else. Seashells or marbles or gemstones.

    Not that it would matter. I¡¯d already be dead.

    I went through the motions that day with a craving for alcohol. I told myself I was going to be responsible, and I was sticking to it, but I couldn¡¯t push away the need for a mind-duller. There was too much still swirling around my head from the day before I had no intentions of meaningfully processing.

    The mission I had that day was some routine goon-squad nonsense, featuring Yoru and Ava not speaking to me unless they had to. In a way it was good that they did that. I didn¡¯t want to talk to them anyway. We didn¡¯t have to kill anyone, and in a way that was good, too. I did more than enough of that the day before.

    That said, by the time night rolled around, the craving wore off. I realized, with a slightly clearer head, that all I actually wanted was a bit of positive attention. Given that, I went back to the Unit 6 room and announced to everyone there that I¡¯d be manning the basement bar that night if anyone wanted anything to drink.

    I rummaged around in my designated clothing drawers for the tuxedo vest I wore on those occasions¡ªnot the same one my father had bought me in the faraway days, but one that was close enough¡ªand left the room with it under my arm.

    Having done so, I set up shop behind the bar, wiping down the already-spotless counter and checking the amounts of various alcohols, writing a list of whatever we needed more of. We were perennially almost out of vodka¡ªboth Ava and Benji were big into it, and Ava was down there all the time, so we blazed through bottles of it faster than anything else.

    The first person to arrive was not Ava, like I was expecting. Since I¡¯d started providing this service, we¡¯d been reaching better terms. She still ignored me when Yoru was around, but, like Yoru himself, she was much more openly cordial when alone. I figured I was on good terms with both of them, now, even if they were both still too embarrassed by me to act like I was acceptable in the presence of their merged unit.

    I was over it now. As long as they accepted me alone, I could handle being ignored. That was always preferable to open, or even backhanded, hostility.

    In fact, since the bar opened, everyone in Unit 6 had opened up to me somewhat. It was a combination of a couple things: one, being in charge of something, even something as benign as a bar, gave me a big confidence boost. I found that, as a general statement, with a table between me and another person and an activity that I was responsible for leading, I could almost forget who I was and where I came from. Underneath all the layers of muck and soul-dampening silence there was a person who at least passed as normal¡ªbut only when she was doing things that ostensibly weren¡¯t.

    I¡¯m sure it was surreal to them.

    Another factor was that people like telling bartenders things. I can¡¯t really say I know why. Maybe it¡¯s just a cultural thing.

    Lastly, through a mixture of my own experimentation and poking around online, I had a pretty wide repertoire of drinks I could make. People actually liked stopping by.

    The only person who had yet to visit me while I was on duty was Benji¡ªwho, of course, then came trudging down the stairs as my first patron that evening.

    His face was a bit red, and while he made a more-or-less straight line walking to me, I guessed that he¡¯d been lightly pre-gaming for this. There was still the errant beer or two in the Unit 6 fridge for when nobody was down here, and Benji was thought to have a fridge in his office that presumably had its own stock of alcohol. There was a brewery out in Hinterland, Massachusetts that Benji liked a lot¡ªhe occasionally got shipments from them. He never let us try any of their stuff, and we never saw where the bottles were stored, so we all figured he had a secret fridge somewhere. It had to be in his office¡ªunless he did something along the lines of what Ava did with her weed room, where he commandeered a quiet, uninhabited corner of the factory for a private retreat where he could drink his forbidden craft beer in peace and not be bothered by such petty things as his job.

    He appeared to be in a good enough mood when he hit the bottom of the stairs, but with each step he took coming toward me a little bit of that good-will leaked out, and by the time he dropped himself onto a barstool he was a bit grayed out and limp.

    As he sat, he mumbled, ¡°Yep, still weird. Okay.¡±

    Benji watched me clean a glass for a moment. I let him take his time, and after a few seconds I asked: ¡°Can I get you something?¡±

    He looked up at me. ¡°Gun. Head.¡±

    Once I got to see him up close, I realized he was a bit farther gone than I originally thought.

    "I¡¯m sure someone on High Street will do that for you if you ask nicely,¡± I said.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Benji said, and his face fell. He turned his attention to the patterns in the granite. ¡°Why does this work for you?¡± he asked, after a moment.

    In other settings, I¡¯d have to ask for clarification. But I knew what he meant.

    I was laser-aware. It was the position of control¡ªit made everything make sense to me. From here I had the high ground¡ªI could see everything I couldn¡¯t normally see. Everything hidden from my normal eyes.

    ¡°Why does this make me normal, you mean,¡± I replied.

    I¡¯ll admit: I was getting sick of that. Benji had almost two years to suck it up and get used to me. I joined this place a week or so after my twelfth birthday and I was turning fourteen in three months. He knew I wasn¡¯t going anywhere. He knew Prochazka would overrule him on matters concerning me until the end of time. All he had to do was take a deep breath and acknowledge that I was going to be a part of the team, forever.

    But instead he just kept sulking.

    ¡°Yes?¡± Benji asked. ¡°Maybe? I don¡¯t know. I mean, you¡¯re thirteen and bartending. Nothing can really make that look normal.¡±

    ¡°Maybe ¡°Why does this make me look not disabled¡± was what you meant to ask,¡± I said. ¡°Did you want a drink or not?¡±

    A tiny fraction of the rage I¡¯d felt that day in Rochester rose in the back of my throat. It was a glowing pinhole into a burning world.

    But I was too powerful now to succumb to it. I held the upper hand here. In this place, Benji was looking for things from me, and not the other way around.

    We were together in a circle of light from a few overhead lamps; around us was the dark factory basement, with crates of forgotten objects stacked along the walls and in loose rows in the middle of the room. It was a tiny island of civilization in a world of neglect; unless you were Benji, and then it was the other way around.

    The pinhole got a little wider; or maybe I got a little closer to it. I saw the whole world drowned in boiling water. I could do that. With a snap of my fingers, I could do it. Nobody would be able to stop me.

    And I let myself get pushed around because I was afraid that someone didn¡¯t like me.

    Stupid. How silly¡ªas if anything Benji thought or cared about truly mattered to someone that could extinguish him with both hands tied behind her back.

    Briefly, I wondered if¡ªin a crisis¡ªif Benji and I pointed in opposite directions: who Unit 6 follow? By that time, I¡¯d saved just about everyone in Unit 6¡¯s life at least once. They knew I was powerful beyond their wildest dreams.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Who would they follow if it came down to it?

    And then I understood Benji. I understood everything about him. It rushed into me all at once.

    I put the glass I was cleaning down. ¡°Do you want a drink, or not?¡± I asked him, again.

    He said, ¡°Just¡ªa beer, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Any preference? Otherwise you¡¯re just getting whatever we have the most of,¡± I said.

    ¡°On¡­um¡­on second thought, just¡­get me something with gin,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t care what. Just¡­anything.¡±

    I was in complete control. I moved smoothly; efficiently. No stuttering. No second-guessing.

    I made him a quick gin and tonic¡ªnothing complicated, I doubted Benji was the sort to like craft drinks anyway¡ªand put it in front of him. He cupped his hands around the glass but didn¡¯t pick it up.

    He muttered, ¡°This is so fucking weird.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± I replied, picking up another glass to clean. It was already almost spotless; I just wanted to do something with my hands. It seemed like the right call for the moment. Plus, I saw bartenders do it on TV all the time, when they were one-on-one with a down-and-out patron, and I wanted to see what it felt like.

    It turned out that it felt a lot like cleaning a glass.

    Benji blinked, like he didn¡¯t expect me to be listening.

    I wondered if this is what I looked like to him: weak, barely there. Uncertain. Unstable. And I wondered if I had now become what I used to think Benji was, before I solved him. Some menacing, distant figure, vaguely disapproving and completely impenetrable.

    I knew I¡¯d get away with it. I asked Benji, point blank: ¡°You¡¯re afraid of me, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    If Benji was gone, would Unit 6 follow me? If not¡ªwho? If they were all out there in the wilderness, in that great war Prochazka spoke of like a prophecy: who would fill Benji¡¯s place?

    If Bell was still out there, I thought, probably her. If not, and if we were truly in a desperate place, and if power-worship held sway as strongly as it did among most keys¡ªthen it would be me.

    And I thought to myself: I should prepare for that outcome.

    Benji did not respond.

    I continued: ¡°Do I make you uncomfortable?¡±

    I put the glass down on the table, drew some water out of the faucet without turning the knobs, and had the glass clean itself. Realizing I was wasting my time, I pulled some more water out of the faucet and had all of the glasses hanging behind me clean themselves¡ªsome twenty-five independent streams of water I controlled swirling and scrubbing. I reached behind me and pumped a bit of soap onto the countertop¡ªeach stream of water dipped down again, went through the soap-puddle, picking some up, and returned to their respective glasses.

    Benji watched the whole contraption whir along.

    I rested my head in my hands, elbows on the bartop. Right in front of him. Just an untouched gin and tonic between us.

    I did my best to look him in the eyes.

    Again I asked him: ¡°Do I scare you?¡±

    He looked at me, blank.

    I wondered what he saw there. In my eyes. Was there life, humor, joy, all those other things like I saw in Ava, Cygnus, and Yoru? Or did he see a pale lifeless blue, an ocean-equivalent to Bell¡¯s?

    Or maybe he didn¡¯t see those things at all. Maybe it was just me that put so much meaning into something other people probably never thought about.

    I¡¯ve never been particularly good at reading faces. Growing up, I had a lot of time to learn, trying to determine how my dad felt at any given time without asking him and risking that being a trigger¡ªbut I could never quite get the hang of it.

    Right then, though, his face told me everything I needed to know. He looked away from me. He was the one to break eye contact. He found the ice cubes in his drink, sitting still in the glass, particularly interesting.

    The one sound in the room was the gentle swish of the glasses behind me cleaning themselves.

    I only wanted one thing from Benji.

    Quietly, he said: ¡°Yeah. You do.¡±

    I cracked a tiny smile. ¡°Do I.¡±

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t understand,¡± he said. A bit of life dripped back into his eyes¡ªclenching his jaw as the forced the words out. ¡°Why you¡¯re here. Who you are. Why Prochazka thinks we need you. Maybe he¡¯s playing some kind of 4D chess bullshit and I¡¯m just not ever going to understand what he¡¯s planning. Maybe he was just trying to pull you off the streets because he¡¯s a nice guy. It could be anything. I don¡¯t know. I was hoping I could try and figure it out through your work, but that didn¡¯t get me anywhere, either. You kill so efficiently. So¡ªso unthinkingly. I¡¯m not sure you have a remorseful bone in your body. What happens to a twelve-year-old girl that makes them like that? I don¡¯t know what kind of abhorrent shit your father did to you, because it must be something completely unspeakable, unless you¡¯re just that way to begin with. Maybe you¡¯ve always been like this. Maybe you were broken from the start and your father just didn¡¯t know what to do. Maybe it was both. Maybe he made it worse. Maybe¡ªI don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t fucking know. Maybe this is Prochazka¡¯s idea of saving you. But I¡¯m going to tell you right now¡ªI am afraid of you, Erika. Because every day I wonder if you¡¯re two bad days away from snapping and drowning us all. Every day I wonder what happens if Loybol or New York or something offers you a better deal and you leave us. Every day I wonder what happens if your eyesight keeps getting worse and you go blind. Because don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know about that. Sophia¡¯s been keeping me updated. I know how you react when you think about it.¡±

    I forced my face to keep the same shape. Now was not the time. I was in a position of power. I was strong now¡ªBenji was not going to break me with a mere mention of that.

    He would not.

    ¡°I know what this is about, Erika. You¡¯re acting all smug because you¡¯re sitting behind the counter, and you think you¡¯ll get an apology out of me. Well, fuck you. I¡¯m not going to. Because when we drove home from Rochester, I started to wonder about what happens when you¡¯re not here. Maybe you go blind and you kill yourself. Then what? We lose our nuke. New York sweeps in. You saved my life that day. The Buffalo gang sent more than enough people to take me out if they had to. And you just, God, just snapped your fucking fingers and dropped them, and then you turned one of them into a fucking mummy like it was nothing. And I¡¯ve never seen another water-key that can do that at all, let alone without passing out. And you¡¯ve had your key for what? Two years? Less than that, even. What¡¯ll you be capable of when you¡¯re eighteen? When you¡¯re my age? I don¡¯t know. All I know is that I have no idea what the hell goes on in your head, but I know two things for sure: you¡¯ve got some kind of degenerative eye condition that doesn¡¯t appear to be getting any better, and that if the rest of Unit 6 had to get together to fight you, we¡¯d fucking lose. Maybe Bell could take you, and the fact that I¡¯m even questioning Bell¡¯s ability to take someone on at all scares the piss out of me.¡±

    Benji folded his arms, leaned forward. ¡°So, no. I¡¯m not apologizing. I¡¯m thankful you saved my life. I¡¯m thankful for all the times you saved the lives of the rest of us. But I don¡¯t want you to think for a goddamn second that I trust you. Because I don¡¯t.¡±

    He looked down at his glass and didn¡¯t touch it.

    I let his words go in one ear and out the other.

    I let them flow through me, and I let them flow out again.

    I didn¡¯t care what Benji thought of me. I cared what the people I saw every day thought of me¡ªwhat Cygnus and Ava and Yoru and Bell thought. Benji was some distant management nobody who I barely ever saw. Most of my missions came from Prochazka, anyway. As long as Benji and I could stay cordial; who cared if we hated each other?

    It did not matter. It had no meaning.

    I let his words flow through and out. I took two deep breaths.

    I said to him, ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°Okay?¡± he replied.

    ¡°You can think whatever you want,¡± I said, drawing some more water out of the faucet to clean the soap puddle I¡¯d made off the counter behind me. I did so without turning around. Latent humidity in the air was good enough for me to find my way. ¡°I¡¯m not going to stop you.¡±

    Benji looked away from me.

    It was about that time that Yoru and Ava came down the stairs. As soon as I heard the footsteps, the spell was broken; whatever Benji and I were reaching was lost. I glanced back at the hanging glasses. Benji picked up his drink and drained it in one gulp, wincing as it burned him, exhaling loud when he was done. Yoru and Ava took seats to Benji¡¯s right, placed their orders¡ªsmiling, laughing.

    Benji watched them. Watched me talk to them.

    He watched in silence.

    Cygnus joined, later¡ªand finally, after a few moments, Benji started to talk, too. He got a letter from Bell, he said. She was doing okay. She thought she¡¯d be done soon.

    We stayed there through the early hours of the night¡ªby one AM, everyone had dispersed back home. I was alone in the bar¡ªthere was nothing but me and the gentle creaking of the building slowly settling into the mire it was built on.

    I drew some more water out of the faucet, scrubbed everything clean without physically moving, all except the last dish, which I washed by hand. Not that there was any particular need to do so¡ªbut I wanted to do something with my hands. After a bit it had become surreal, even to me, that I could do so much maintenance work without lifting a literal finger.

    And half of that water-manipulating cleaning routine was just to show off, anyway.

    I dried all the glasses off by simply pulling the moisture away and dropping the collected ball into the sink. No cloth needed.

    In the empty basement all things were so still and cold that it may as well have been the vacuum of space. I would¡¯ve been willing to believe that the conditions down there were so harsh and dystopic that nothing but bacteria could make it. That this place was unfit for human life in any fashion. The only evidence anyone had ever been there, now that I was done cleaning, were objects long since left behind. It could have been an abandoned moon base. It could have been the last remnants of a collapsed skyscraper ten thousand years in the future when all humanity had crumpled and the last word had long since been spoken.

    Then I looked out at the dark, at the rows of empty crates outside of the cone of light I inhabited, and my spine locked. Deep in a dusty corner of my soul I didn¡¯t look at any more there was a primal urge to move. There was something out there lurking in between the rows of empty crates and dust-caked equipment. Something that ate magic and drank darkness. Something, surely, both invisible and ten feet tall.

    I needed to escape the basement¡ªwhatever was out there, it preyed on the lonesome; nobody would ever find my body. I would be gone and that would be the end of it; maybe it would eat everyone¡¯s memories associated with me, too, so that it would have been like I was never, ever there.

    It would hear me if I ran. It would get me if I stayed¡ªand the cone of light I stood in at the bar would only protect me for so long.

    I knew I¡¯d only have precious seconds before it would sprint toward me, invisible, on all fours like a tiger. In the five seconds it would take to run from the bar to the steps. Five seconds to make it from the bar to the steps along the wall.

    It wasn¡¯t that far, and I¡¯d always been called quick for my age, but faced against that¡ª

    So slowly I reached up¡ª

    Maybe if it didn¡¯t hear me flick off the lights, I could get the jump on it¡ª

    My finger grazed the top of the switch, and I looked out at the stairs, trying to figure the distance, and all at once I dropped my dead-weight hand on the switch, flicking the lights off, and I was sprinting to the steps, and I could feel the beast gaining on me as I made the dash, knowing fully that it was there but too desperate to look back¡ª

    Eyes locked shut, leaping up the stairs, two, three at a time¡ª

    And I emerged from the staircase unscathed, and I slammed the door behind me loud enough and hard enough to knock dust from the jamb and rattle the doorframe.

    I stood still, staring at the closed door for a full ten seconds, bright red from a mixture of the effort and embarrassment¡ªwhat was I running from? What was down there?

    I¡¯d seen the whole basement. I knew the only thing that lived there were cute little pill-bugs and dust-mites. I¡¯d even peered into a number of the crates, looking at all the old tools and discarded things that were stored down there. Anything useful had long since been removed and repurposed; it was essentially an oversized trash-room now.

    There was nothing down there to be afraid of. But in that moment, I was so dead sure that I was about to be dismembered by something unknowable and unseen.

    Now, though, staring at the door, I just felt stupid. Stupid and played.

    God forbid I ran from nothing at all.

    I grimaced, disappointed in myself, and went back to the Unit 6 room.

 31 - Bell in a Jar (1)

    {June 11th}

    For my fourteenth birthday, I didn¡¯t get any gifts. Cygnus confessed that he had yet to find something that he really thought would be a slam-dunk; and short of settling for something only so-so he opted to wait, so that he could get me something really good for Christmas. That was fine by me; my fourteenth birthday was such a bright and warm gem of a day that I didn¡¯t want for anything.

    I spent half the day just lying in the tall grass outside, staring up at the sky. Drawing water out of the grass around me to play with, making intricate, tiny designs like phantom spider-webs a foot over my head.

    I was fully content to watch the clouds go by, extending the reach of my power-consciousness as high as I could in a vain attempt at pulling down rain like some kind of ancient shaman; but that eluded even me.

    Maybe on a cloudier day, when they were lower in the sky.

    Around two o¡¯clock I heard some commotion outside the main entrance and got up, stretching, to take a look. There was a van out front with the back doors open, and a bunch of Unit 5 people crowding around it. They were the clean-up crew, so evidently something had happened that resulted in an object they needed to retrieve.

    I wondered if, maybe, we had a prisoner. Not that we¡¯d be able to do all that much with one.

    Ever since Rochester I¡¯d been keeping the idea of an attack from a foreign power in the back of my mind; that war Prochazka and Benji seemed to relish the idea of seemed more real than ever. I couldn¡¯t say which direction it would come from, north-west or south-east, but either way I figured we were hurtling toward a conflict we couldn¡¯t possibly stop.

    So I knew I had to be on my best behavior.

    I took a wide berth around the crowd. I¡¯d been enjoying my alone-time all morning and wasn¡¯t quite ready to give it up, nor was I ready to find out what was going on.

    The rest of Unit 6 had other plans, though.

    I re-entered the factory through a side door, and as I entered the main foyer (taking a roundabout way to avoid some additional people rushing outside), Ava caught sight of me, swiveled on a dime, and ran towards me.

    ¡°Erika!¡± she shouted.

    I blinked. ¡°Not so loud,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re inside.¡±

    ¡°No, look. Where were you?¡± she asked.

    Her breathing was a bit heavy; I felt the moisture before I really took in her expression.

    ¡°Outside,¡± I said. ¡°In the grass.¡±

    ¡°Doing what?¡±

    ¡°Um¡­just, lying there. Enjoying the weather?¡± I turned red. ¡°What¡¯s it to you?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡ªwhatever. You saw the van outside, right?¡±

    ¡°The van? Yeah, I saw it. Do we have a prisoner?¡±

    ¡°A prisoner? No,¡± Ava said. ¡°Fuck, Erika, Bell¡¯s back.¡±

    I blinked. For a second, her statement didn¡¯t register.

    That said, my first response to Ava was: ¡°Bell stole a van?¡±

    Ava stifled a laugh a bit too slowly. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªum, really not funny. That¡¯s our ambulance. She¡¯s, um, not doing too great.¡±

    My expression didn¡¯t change. I still didn¡¯t understand. Bell was invincible, like me. Nothing could possibly stop her.

    Not even bullets, I would imagine.

    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± Ava said. ¡°Cygnus, Yoru, and Benji are out, so it¡¯s just us. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll want to see, y¡¯know, at least someone from her own unit. Given what everyone else thinks of her, anyway.¡±

    I stuffed my confusion. I could be confused later.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    She repeated, ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± and she took my hand, pulling me toward the door in a jog; I had to run to keep up.

    At the entrance, she kicked the wooden splint in the corner over and jammed it underneath the door itself, holding it open for the four people carrying the stretcher out of the van.

    Over the stretcher was a white cloth.

    I felt myself go hollow. Ava¡¯s hand tightened around mine.

    It hadn¡¯t really occurred to me that she never let go.

    ¡°Is she¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ava said slowly. ¡°At least, she wasn¡¯t when she called for pickup. I¡¯m gonna¡ªI¡¯ll go ask,¡± she said, going out into the sunlight.

    I followed her, numbly copying her movements. Hands still entwined.

    Bell¡ª

    Ava hailed a man in a Yankees cap with arms about as thick as my head. He wore a blank white tank-top and I doubted he owned anything else, just by looking at him. He seemed like the sort of guy to have a closet of ten plain white tank tops that he rotated through, regardless of weather.

    He stood by the passenger side of the van, door open, rummaging through the glovebox for sunglasses.

    The man looked up at Ava with something between surprise and a scowl.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he said, humorless.

    ¡°Is she okay?¡± Ava asked him, just a bit too hushed to cover for the commotion around them.

    ¡°I mean,¡± he glanced over at the stretcher, eyes following it as they pushed it into the factory. ¡°she was alive when we got there.¡±

    My vision tunneled.

    Ava¡¯s voice came distant, even though she was standing right next to me: ¡°And now?¡±

    ¡°And she¡¯s still alive now,¡± he shrugged, unfolding the shades he found. ¡°Probably. I bet she¡¯s got three hearts or some shit. Maybe we just listened to a decoy one. I¡¯m consistently stunned all of her organs are in the right place.¡±

    The three of us watched the stretcher turn in the foyer, heading toward the infirmary.

    ¡°Where was she?¡± Ava asked.

    ¡°In Albany,¡± he said. ¡°Slumped over on the floor of a phone booth. Only thing she said to us was to put a sheet over her before she went unconscious. Once we did, well, something moved under the sheet and kind of, uh, she got taller and kind of¡­shriveled? God. I don¡¯t know.¡±

    He regarded the two of us, briefly, then looked back out at the empty foyer. ¡°I don¡¯t know about y¡¯all, but if she don¡¯t make it I¡¯m not saying any prayers.¡±

    With that he gestured to the driver, hidden from us, and started to climb back into the van.

    Ava wasn¡¯t about to take shit from someone I was certain she viewed as beneath her. She snapped into a scowl. ¡°Hey. Yankees cap. What the fuck¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    The man put on the sunglasses and looked down at the two of us. From the way he breathed, I got the sense that he¡¯d rehearsed this in his head a number of times. It was something he¡¯d dreamed of saying¡ªand here he was, face-to-face with his big chance. He regarded the two of us coolly, without feeling, and said: ¡°You people are so fucked up. I hate this stupid job and I hate all of you. If there was any decent God in the universe, none of you would¡¯ve been born, but I guess there¡¯s not because here you are, doing all your shit, and here I am cleaning up after you.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°So you go take your little sister and go visit your spawn-of-Satan friend, and maybe you¡¯ll get to kiss her on the forehead before she goes home to Hell. Or maybe she¡¯ll wake up and regenerate herself or something like the demon she is. I wasn¡¯t ever a religious man, but I just can¡¯t think of any other explanation for the shit I¡¯ve seen you people do. You know how many exploded brains I¡¯ve mopped up? How many rooms I¡¯ve repainted because the smell of blood won¡¯t come off the walls? I don¡¯t know and I don¡¯t fucking want to. I wasn¡¯t ever a Christian, but working here made me believe in Hell, because, Christ help me, I think this is it. It¡¯s gotta be.¡±

    Again he looked at Ava, and he looked her right in the eye¡ªsurely made easier with the shield of the sunglasses¡ªand said, ¡°I don¡¯t get paid enough to pretend to be nice. Let me tell you¡ªy¡¯all need us more than we need you. Without us, the government would¡¯ve shot you all down a long-ass time ago.¡±

    He sat down, turned to the driver, said, ¡°Start the fucking van, Pierce,¡± and slammed the door.

    The van rumbled off, leaving the two of us, and a few stragglers from Unit 4 who saw the man¡¯s outburst.

    ¡°You¡¯re not my sister,¡± was all Ava said in response.

    She let go of me; our arms dropped limply to our sides.

    I didn¡¯t say anything. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever thought of the messes I¡¯d made when I had a hit to take out. I just did it. It never occurred to me to think of the people who came in to fix it all afterward.

    But that was an after-thought for that moment. I had one real concern. I wasn¡¯t in the head-space to juggle two worries at once.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I said to Ava, and started off in a brisk walk toward the door.

    She stayed, paused in time by the sidewalk, looking at the empty space where the van used to be. A second or two went by, and I was about to repeat myself before she said, ¡°Right,¡± and followed me.

    0 0 0

    We arrived at the infirmary just as the stretcher-carriers were leaving; taking their gloves off and disposing of them or stuffing them back in their pockets if they were clean enough. Sophia had laid out a clean sheet on the medical bed in there, and Bell¡¯s body had been shifted onto it.

    She was still covered with the sheet that she¡¯d been removed from the van with. Sophia didn¡¯t say anything to us when we walked in. She was sitting on her stool with her hands put together over her nose. Intermittently glancing between the floor and the bed.

    Ava spoke first. ¡°Is she¡ª¡±

    ¡°Alive? Sophia interjected. ¡°Yeah. Alive.¡±

    Her hands shifted from her face into fists; she balanced her chin on one of them, attention fully on the body.

    ¡°There¡¯s a ¡°but¡±, I¡¯m assuming,¡± Ava said.

    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s a ¡°but.¡± It¡¯s fucking Bell.¡±

    Sophia didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°What¡­what does that mean? Can¡¯t you just¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, I can¡¯t,¡± Sophia snapped. ¡°Prochazka hired me on the condition that I¡¯d probably never have to operate on the weird eldritch abomination he hired for you people.¡±

    We both fell quiet. I couldn¡¯t possibly put a word out even if I wanted to. Part of me was a little relieved that Sophia¡¯s disdain extended to all¡ªor at least most¡ªof Unit 6, but the fact that two people in a row had snapped at us for existing felt a bit like getting kicked while down.

    So I let Ava do the talking. ¡°What happened to her?¡±

    ¡°You wanna see?¡± Sophia said, looking at Ava only with her eyes; her head was still pointed at the bed.

    Ava gave a half-hearted shrug. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure you just want to dramatically rip the sheet off. I¡¯m kind of just looking for a word-overview, but you do you, Soph.¡±

    Sophia didn¡¯t react to the nickname. ¡°Not looking for gore today?¡±

    ¡°Did I do something to you?¡± Ava asked. ¡°Seriously. Just tell me.¡±

    Sophia closed her eyes. Sighed. ¡°No. Just stressed. I¡ªI was really hoping this wouldn¡¯t ever happen. Bell is¡ªtwo, maybe three times as powerful as I am. She¡¯s probably the strongest key in the building.¡±

    I opened my mouth to object, and Sophia just gestured vaguely at me and said, ¡°Shut up.¡±

    I shut up.

    ¡°I just sort of assumed Bell was invincible and stopped worrying about it. So I¡¯m assuming whatever she did, she got ambushed by basically a whole fucking army. Or she did something stupid and flashy because she wanted to and she¡¯s a fucking idiot. I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t pretend to understand what goes on in there.¡±

    Slowly, she stood up. ¡°I¡¯m taking off the sheet. Might as well show you what I¡¯m working with.¡±

    She walked over to the bed, took hold of a corner, and pulled it back.

    Lying there was a person. That was the extent to which I could recognize her as Bell¡ªshe was somewhere along the lines of the shape she usually appeared to me in, although not quite as tall (caveat being it was hard to discern height while she was on the bed) and not quite as sickly-thin. Her entire body was covered in splotchy, black or fluorescent red burns¡ªand I mean her entire body because I could see her entire body; all of her clothing burned away save for charred strips of cloth here and there. I saw some things, accidentally, that I really do not ever want to see again.

    Her left eyelid half-peeled down like it was flayed, with the hint of a dull gray-glass underneath.

    Where the burns were especially bad, the flesh surrounding them was yellow, almost brownish in places. She had somehow managed to keep most of her hair, although it was missing in a few patches. The burns were primarily on her torso and down through her legs; her face had some too, enough to scar her cheeks, chin, and right temple and shrivel her lower lip, but they weren¡¯t charred like the rest of her was.

    And still, I could feel her breathing¡ªshallow, mostly dry, but it was there.

    I swallowed the bile and held still.

    Sophia returned enough of the sheet so that Bell¡¯s lower body was covered. Upon second thought, she pulled the sheet up a bit further to cover Bell¡¯s chest, too.

    She walked into a back room and emerged with an IV drip stand, lifted the sheet over her arm and hooked Bell up.

    When Sophia finished with that, she sat down hard on the stool again.

    ¡°Well, she¡¯s definitely well done,¡± Ava said.

    Both Sophia and I just stared at her, blank. Ava mumbled an apology, shifted a bit.

    ¡°I just don¡¯t really know what to do,¡± Sophia said, rubbing the garnet-inlaid key around her neck between two fingers. ¡°I feel kind of powerless here. Nobody tells me what Bell actually does around here, so I have no idea how important she actually is. I¡¯ve got¡ªoptions, I guess, but they¡¯re all risky. She¡¯s hanging on the edge as is right now, but I think if I keep her hydrated and fed she¡¯ll more or less fix herself. Us garnets heal pretty quickly. If I just, I don¡¯t know, keep my hands off her for a few weeks, she¡¯ll probably be more or less okay? But that¡¯s assuming she wakes up. Because the passive healing isn¡¯t too great for major injuries like this. Oh, also both of her legs are broken. Dunno if you caught that.¡±

    We didn¡¯t. Ava and I shook our heads.

    Sophia folded her hands over her nose again, rubbing both of her eyes as she did so; breathing deeply. ¡°I could try and speed things up. Burns are pretty treatable for me, but it¡¯s not exactly a pleasant experience. Not that Bell would complain, I¡¯m sure, but¡ªwell, depending on what she was doing there could be smoke inhalation damage to her lungs, her legs are broken so obviously there was some kind of blunt trauma that went on so maybe something else is damaged, too, and¡­well, it¡¯s Bell. I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s done with her body. God only knows if all of her organs are in the right places.

    ¡°The safe option gets her back to normal in¡­two weeks? But I wouldn¡¯t want her going on another undercover bullshit God-knows-what mission for at least four so I can keep an eye on her. If I try and help, I could probably get her up and going in a week, but there¡¯s a decent possibility that I fuck it up. There¡¯s also a good chance I literally can¡¯t do anything because she¡¯s a more powerful garnet than me, and we can¡¯t really heal up the power-scale. I¡¯d ask her what she wants but she¡¯s unconscious. And I don¡¯t know enough about Bell¡¯s anatomy to know why she¡¯s unconscious because she shapeshifts all the fucking time and I also don¡¯t know why she¡¯s unconscious because nobody ever tells me what the fuck she¡¯s doing.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªdon¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you ask,¡± Ava said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t ask you,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m hounding Benji all the goddamn time for info on what you people are up to so I can help if you ever get hurt, and it¡¯s fine when Cygnus shows up with a big slice in his leg because I don¡¯t need to know for that, but Bell gets wheeled in here with two broken legs and full-body third-degree-burns, enough to kill any non-flesh-key, and I¡¯m expected to just fix, as if I¡¯m capable of doing that when Bell has a good case for being the strongest flesh key alive.¡±

    Sophia¡¯s hands gradually curled up as she spoke. ¡°I swear to God, Prochazka treats me like I¡¯m fucking disposable. Just throws bodies at me and expects me to patch them all. Like if I¡¯m ever gone he can get Bell to do my job or something. Loybol doesn¡¯t have a single garnet on her entire payroll. I think all of NYC has one, we¡¯re maybe a hundred people in this building, a tenth of the size of Loybol¡¯s operation and an even smaller fraction of NYC and we have two. Prochazka takes me for granted, I swear. I¡¯m asking for a fucking raise.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should¡ª¡± Ava started, and then cut herself off. ¡°You know what, never mind.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not gonna die,¡± Sophia said. ¡°If she¡¯s still breathing, she should make it.¡±

    ¡°She is,¡± I offered. It was the least I could do to be helpful, I thought, and I was long overdue for a contribution, lest I just end up standing there spectating this whole thing like an invalid.

    I chose not to think about the uncertainty Sophia slipped into that statement. To my surprise, I didn¡¯t.

    ¡°I know,¡± Sophia snapped. ¡°I¡¯m not fucking blind.¡±

    I blinked, blank.

    She took a deep breath again. ¡°God. I shouldn¡¯t be taking this out on you guys. You didn¡¯t do anything wrong. I mean, not right now, directly related to this. I still don¡¯t think you should be here,¡± she said, gesturing to me with a limp hand, ¡°but that¡¯s beside the point.¡±

    I swallowed, said nothing.

    ¡°Look,¡± Sophia said, standing up. ¡°I¡¯m going to gently poke around and see if I can get any info on what¡¯s going on. I¡¯m gonna see what I can actually do to help here. There¡¯s¡ªwell, if anyone asks you before they ask me, which would be par for the course as far as I¡¯m concerned, tell them Bell¡¯s probably gonna be out for three weeks, and that starts after she wakes up.¡±

    Ava blinked. She fidgeted a bit. I kept expecting her to start a fight¡ªAva never let herself be talked down to like that, not in all two years I¡¯d known her¡ªbut instead she just looked down at the floor for half a second, said, ¡°Okay,¡± and then she turned to me and said, ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± like I wasn¡¯t listening to this whole conversation and wasn¡¯t already on my way out the door.

 32 - Bell in a Jar (2)

    We waited until we were a few good paces away from the infirmary before we spoke.

    ¡°She¡¯s always so fucking testy,¡± Ava said, rolling her eyes. ¡°God.¡±

    ¡°Does everyone hate us?¡± I asked, ignoring her words.

    ¡°I mean¡ªyes?¡± Ava frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t talk to anyone outside of the unit all that much, but we¡¯re not super popular around here.¡±

    ¡°I knew that,¡± I said, slowly. ¡°Just¡­everyone we¡¯ve talked to today has been really mean.¡±

    Ava sighed. Stopped walking, leaned against the nearest wall.

    ¡°Look,¡± Ava said, ¡°I get that Bell means a lot to you, but to the rest of us she¡¯s a fucking wacko weirdo who¡¯s never around and gets off on acting batshit all the time. Apparently she¡¯s good at her job but we¡¯d never know because literally none of us have ever been on a mission with her. Once the third month of her not being here rolled around, well¡­I talked to a bunch of folks in the other units because, no offense, I think I¡¯m the normal one here¡ªand they were all kind of, ah, speaking in hushed tones, if you know what I¡¯m saying.¡±

    Ava swallowed, stuck her fingertips in her pockets. ¡°Bell made¡ªuh, makes¡ªus all look bad. Especially in Unit 6. She¡¯s powerful, sure, but¡­we all thought she was the kind of person we were supposed to be fighting. Like, she obviously doesn¡¯t give a shit about the greater good, right? She pretty obviously just does this stuff because she likes it and Prochazka pays her. Pays her out the ass, by the way¡ªshe makes the highest wage out of all of us and doesn¡¯t spend a fucking dime. Yoru saw the salary sheet for all of us once; Benji left it on his desk. Like, she makes eighty-five thousand. Eighty-five grand! I¡¯d kill to make that much.¡±

    She snickered. ¡°Okay, maybe not kill. Doesn¡¯t mean all that much anymore, huh?¡±

    I knew how much I made, and it was money beyond my wildest dreams. But I was also fourteen, twelve when I started, and I knew, objectively speaking, my wage was about average for the area, maybe a bit less.

    Eighty-five grand was close to double my salary. To be fair, though, I was just happy I got paid at all. I had no idea where Prochazka got all the money from. I didn¡¯t really want to know¡ªthat was Unit 1¡¯s job, and while they were often out and about, they were extremely tight-lipped about their methods.

    Ava went on: ¡°I thought she was dead, Erika, and I think a lot of other people thought she was dead, too, and I think now that we all found out that we were wrong, it¡¯s¡­well¡­¡±

    Ava grimaced. She finished her statement fast, letting the words slip out in a continuous stream. ¡°It¡¯s disappointing, Erika, we all kind of wanted her replaced.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡± was all I could muster as a response.

    We didn¡¯t speak or move for a second.

    I liked Bell. Bell, as least to the best of my knowledge, appeared to like me. She was one of the only people who went out of her way to talk to me when I was new here, aside from Cygnus, and for that I¡¯d always be thankful. Even if she wasn¡¯t around to do it all that often.

    Watching TV with Cygnus and Bell was still one of my fondest memories of my first year here. It was the first thing that really made me feel like a part of the team.

    And here was Ava saying she would¡¯ve been glad if Bell was dead. As if nothing Bell did for me mattered.

    I was disappointed in her. Not mad, because I understood why¡ªjust disappointed, and maybe a little frustrated. How could she not see the good? Sure, Bell was weird, but I had to imagine that being a powerful enough telepath or flesh-key made it basically impossible to be a normal person. The fact that she made an attempt at all was probably a significant mark in her favor.

    But maybe she only made that attempt around me.

    And maybe I just didn¡¯t know anything.

    It was too much extrapolation. Any conclusion I could draw was barely better than an empty guess.

    I settled with disappointment.

    Ava asked, ¡°No chance Bell told you anything about where she was going or what she was gonna do, right?¡±

    I shook my head.

    ¡°Figures,¡± she said. ¡°Not like we could trust it, anyway. How old did Bell tell you she was?¡±

    ¡°Twenty-six,¡± I replied, in a low drone. Staring at the dust caught in the crux of the wall and floor.

    ¡°Yeah, she told me she was thirty-three,¡± Ava said. ¡°I think she told Yoru she was twenty-nine, and¡­Cygnus, maybe twenty-four? God only knows what she told Benji and Prochazka. I don¡¯t think Prochazka actually knows how old Bell is.¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t,¡± I replied. Same tone. ¡°I asked him about it once.¡±

    ¡°See¡ªnobody knows shit. And we¡¯re supposed to trust her? She¡¯s barely even a part of the team. I had half a mind to tell Prochazka to make a Unit 7 that¡¯s just Bell and hire someone else in her place that we can actually work with, but¡­well, that seems like in bad taste now.¡±

    As if.

    ¡°You just said you were disappointed she was still alive,¡± I said, monotone. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine you actually care.¡±

    Ava blinked.

    ¡°I mean, not really,¡± she said, surprised. ¡°Just¡ªyeah, not really. I don¡¯t really care.¡±

    Again we fell silent. I felt like the conversation was over¡ªand I¡¯d be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t nervous from my attack¡ªbut Ava didn¡¯t say anything about it. After a few more moments she added: ¡°I mean, Yoru and I have been here for four years. Bell was here when we got here. I can count on my fingers¡ªand maybe a couple of toes¡ªthe amount of real conversations I¡¯d had with her in the whole two years before you got here. And I remember thinking, when Cygnus got here with all his delusions and grand designs, that he¡¯d fall for Bell¡¯s antics just like you did. He¡¯d get enamored with the dark vigilante I had to convince him she wasn¡¯t.¡±

    Ava¡¯s tone changed¡ªshe went from detached to fully engaged, and for the first time in the whole conversation she made an effort to look at me, and when she spoke it was almost pleading: ¡°Erika, please listen to me. Bell does not care about you. Bell does not care about anyone. Bell does not care about anything. Whatever she¡¯s giving you, or whatever she¡¯s promising you, it¡¯s not worth it. At the end of the day¡­¡±

    She trailed off, and when she picked it up again her voice was as thin as the light breeze outside. ¡°At the end of the day,¡± she repeated, ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of war with the Buffalo gang or with NYC. I¡¯m not afraid of dying. I¡¯ve watched two people in this unit die already. In the back of my mind I¡¯ve always known I was going to die here, and I¡¯ve always been¡­sort of okay with that. In this world there¡¯s no other place for us. It¡¯s here or nowhere. But I am afraid of Bell. Because, God help us, imagine if she turns. What the fuck would we do? How could we possibly fight her? Bell is both the reason I¡¯m not afraid of war and she¡¯s the only thing I think we could lose to. Because if NYC gives her a better deal, I don¡¯t think she¡¯d stay here. If she gets a better offer somewhere else, I doubt she¡¯d stick around out of the kindness of her heart.¡±

    After a second, Ava added: ¡°Maybe she¡¯d stay for you.¡±

    I had no response to that.

    Ava stood up, pushing off the wall with her foot. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go see if the others are back.¡±

    She walked away, the chain on her jeans gently clinking as she went.

    I watched her go out of the corner of my eye, disappearing into the hallway at the other end of the foyer, but that was out of my peripheral vision before long, and I didn¡¯t bother to follow her beyond that.

    I didn¡¯t move.

    0             0             0

    I checked in on Bell three times a day, every day.

    Knowing that she was there, not dead but possibly soon to be, and that there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it¡ªsince Sophia couldn¡¯t even open the body to look around, that was how large the power gap between the two was¡ªknowing that ate at me. I spent the whole time looking over my shoulder. Wondering what I¡¯d do if Sophia walked out of the infirmary one day to the assembled, shrugged to us all and said, ¡°Well, there wasn¡¯t anything I could do.  Eventually, everyone loses a battle.¡±

    But not me. Not Bell. We were invincible¡ªwe would persevere through time immemorial; or, at least, she would. The only things that could stop us were us¡ªand for Bell I believed that more firmly than for anyone else. The only thing standing between Bell and eternal life was an eventual, hanging proposition that she¡¯d get bored of living and cut her brain from her neck.

    Anything short of that was just a flesh-wound. Anything short of self-decapitation was a scratch; a slight; a nothing. Somehow, Prochazka had contracted a god. Someone so far above humanity that the lives and dreams of others were just the scramblings of ants to them.

    And yet¡ª

    For almost a week, there Bell was: lying unconscious on a hospital bed, intravenously hydrated and fed, with Sophia sitting on her little green-leather stool watching her, waiting to see if there was enough of Bell left to fix herself.

    Every morning, right after breakfast, with my coffee in hand I¡¯d come to the infirmary, knock on the door¡ªto the point were on the third day Sophia simply said, ¡°Come in, Erika,¡± by the knock¡ªand I¡¯d stand next to Sophia, hoping the smell of coffee would awaken something, or my presence would make Bell try harder, somehow. I never doubted for a second that she knew I was there. Bell knew the ways of all flesh.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Every afternoon, after lunch, I¡¯d stop by again, for a shorter visit this time¡ªexcept for the fourth day, where I had a mission to attend do¡ªjust to see if anything had changed. Once in a while Sophia had an update: Bell had twitched, her eyes were open a bit but that was just an unconscious movement, her heartbeat was a little stronger, I thought¡ªbut for the most part she left me to my own devices. Staring at the body and wishing desperately that I had a better key. Something I could use to contact her.

    But we had no telepaths. We had no other flesh-keys. All we had was time and trust.

    And every night, sometimes when Sophia was still there, and sometimes not, I¡¯d go in¡ªpicking the lock with ice if I had to¡ªsit on the stool Sophia used, and watch Bell for a while. Some nights I¡¯d be sharp enough to see her chest rise and fall in miniscule amounts as she breathed¡ªother times, with the lights off and the whole room still and gray, my eyes wouldn¡¯t let me.

    It was strange¡ªaround the third day, I thought for the first time that maybe, just maybe, Bell wouldn¡¯t make it. The idea was so alien to me that it physically stopped me in my tracks when it struck; how could Bell possibly not make it? But since the words came into my head, I knew I couldn¡¯t deny them; any rejection was just superficial, it would only serve into deluding me that this was just a delay in Bell¡¯s life rather than an actual, real, fight against death.

    I¡¯d always believed that Bell could slay the reaper. If anyone could, it was her.

    Nobody had died yet in my tenure in Unit 6; I wasn¡¯t sure if any of us could. We were all so strong, so vibrant¡ªthe idea of an empty bed, a truly empty one, wasn¡¯t even something I could really imagine.

    But there was Bell, unmoving and barely hanging, and there was the empty bed in the Unit 6 barracks, and I would always force my imagination to stop before it could go further.

    What would we do without Bell?

    The question rang through the whole unit. We were all thinking it. We went from vibrantly social as usual on the first night, to a little quieter on the second, a little more on the third, and by the fourth we basically did not speak.

    I was the only person who felt like they knew Bell, even though I knew I didn¡¯t actually. My concerns were for her; but for everyone else, it was a more pragmatic worry. Loybol knew about Bell now. Presumably rumors of Bell existed in other groups, as well. What would happen if they found out she was gone?

    How much was the existence of Bell holding back?

    I knew that Unit 6¡¯s status as an elite group kept a lot of the garbage in our region in check by rumors alone. And it kept some amount of pressure off us from the north and south. Prochazka keeping things friendly with Loybol helped with that, too.

    None of us knew exactly what Bell did around here. We all just knew that most of it was so important, so top-secret, that we couldn¡¯t ever be allowed to know. We all just had to accept that Bell was off-limits.

    And even when she was gone, for the entire six months, I never once thought that Bell was dead. Even during the stretches of no correspondence, at their longest, four weeks, I never entertained the idea that Bell wasn¡¯t coming back.

    She was invincible, just like me. Everything would always work out for her.

    The disconnect between the unearthly figure I knew¡ªtoo tall, too thin, too gaunt, too dark, too knowing, too powerful, too interested, too unknowable¡ªand the bandaged, unconscious girl on the bed in the hospital room rattled me.

    The Bell I knew was towering, she was an imposing monster who filled a room with her presence, an emotional vortex with her quiet smile¡ªshe was impossible to ignore.

    The Bell I saw on the bed was small. Shriveled.

    I¡¯ll admit it. I was scared.

    Scared for her, scared for us. I¡¯d always figured I¡¯d take on the burden of defending this place with her, if it came down to it. Since we were the strongest. But it was always ¡°we¡±¡ªshe was always by my side. I had long since decided that that was the reason she took so much interest in me. She knew that, if the greater powers that be came for us, we were the only defenders against annihilation.

    But to do that alone¡ª

    And with my own future that I was hurtling towards¡ª

    It scared me.

    And I remember lying in bed on the fourth night wondering: what will become of us? What was I going to do?

    The bunk underneath mine was empty, again. Bell was here, but she wasn¡¯t here.

    I was replaying our interactions in my head, in catatonic repetition, trying to find any hint of premonition or advice she might¡¯ve left me in the event of her untimely death. Bell wasn¡¯t a telepath, but if she told me she could see the future, I¡¯d believe her. Unlike everyone else, who trusted nothing Bell ever said, I believed everything, because I knew she could do anything. Who was to say she couldn¡¯t see the future?

    Had Bell ever told me she could never die?

    It was late that fourth night¡ªso late it was technically the fifth morning¡ªbut I needed to see her again. I needed to ask her if she could die. Not that she could hear me at all. What I wanted was to hear the words leave my mouth. The silence could be my answer. I wanted to ask the question. That was all.

    I couldn¡¯t get past the idea that without Bell, we were all dead.

    So I climbed out of the top bunk and slipped on my shoes without bothering to put on socks. I stepped quietly to the door, opened it just enough to slip outside without making it creak¡ªlightly resting it shut without closing it fully.

    I walked downstairs, across the dark foyer¡ªpausing briefly to glance out through the glass front doors, imagining the van that brought Bell home sitting in the driveway out front. Imagining the people scrambling to bring her inside¡ªpeople who hated her, people who wanted her gone.

    People who didn¡¯t appreciate everything Bell did for us.

    And as I turned back toward the hall, I found that I couldn¡¯t quite read the sign that pointed to the infirmary. I knew where it was by heart¡ªbut the fact that the sign was morphing before me, shifting from nonsense word to nonsense word too fast for me to grab any particular letter or phrase¡ªmade my spine rigid and cold.

    The truth is that I needed Bell. I needed her desperately. I didn¡¯t quite know why that was, but in my heart I knew that she was the only person in the whole wide world who could really understand me.

    And maybe the only person who could help me.

    She was the only one who spoke plainly to me, even when it was something I didn¡¯t want to hear.

    The only one who never minced words when I was around.

    The only one who, I was certain, was on no level afraid of me.

    Yoru, Cygnus, and Ava were civil, and Cygnus was more so¡ªbut Bell was the only person I could truly call a close friend.

    So I needed Bell. I craved her attention. It makes me feel weak to admit it. How deeply I required her validation to feel like I meant something. How much that quiet smile fueled me.

    I came to the infirmary door, and I opened it slowly, quietly¡ªit wasn¡¯t even locked. Sophia must have stopped bothering. The room inside was not quite pitch black¡ªsome medical instruments Sophia had been using but didn¡¯t put away had dials and displays that glowed blue, casting a pale light just barely bright enough to illuminate the shape, but not the form, of the person on the bed.

    I took my place on Sophia¡¯s green-leather stool, and I looked at Bell.

    The few missing patches of hair were gone, and her face burns¡ªwhile still splotchy and blackened¡ªweren''t quite as omnipresent as they were a few days ago. It looked like she was getting better, although it was entirely possible that it was just my imagination.

    I whispered, mostly to myself: ¡°Please wake up soon.¡±

    Sophia had told me, on the second day, that if Bell didn¡¯t wake up after a week, she pinned it at ¡°unlikely¡± that she ever would. This fourth night was starting to cut it close.

    ¡°Please,¡± I whispered, again.

    And then Bell shifted. Her head turned¡ªand slowly, she faced me.

    My heart froze solid. I got up from the stool so fast I left it spinning¡ªrushing to the side of the bed.

    Bell whispered, ¡°Erika.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± I replied, breathless.

    She started to speak again, her voice barely above a breathy creak, but in my haste I cut her off, saying, ¡°Let me turn on the lights¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said. Quietly¡ªonly barely audibly over the whirr and buzz of the machines and air conditioning¡ªbut loud enough for me.

    I stopped dead, crouched back down next to her.

    ¡°Erika,¡± she said, again. ¡°How long has it been?¡±

    ¡°Four days,¡± I replied. I spoke in a whisper¡ªnot that I had to hide; but the weight of the dark room and Bell¡¯s presence, weak as she was, crushed my voice down to that small sound.

    She was alive!

    I should have been rejoicing¡ª

    Bell cracked a smile. Just barely I could make out the shape of her mouth curving upward¡ªand something large and dark in her opened eyes.

    The dark patches of burned flesh on her face began to flake. They peeled themselves away, and underneath was something lighter, cast gray in the dim blue light.

    Again she spoke my name¡ª

    ¡°Erika,¡± she said.

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± I replied, again.

    It was like she was molting. Everything dead came free.

    She shifted under the sheet. Eyes locked on mine.

    I could not look away.

    She pulled her legs in and¡ªwith what was unmistakably a large effort¡ªpulled herself up to a seated position. Legs crossed with the medical sheet pulled around her like a robe.

    ¡°I am invincible,¡± she whispered, her voice a little bit louder. Hoarse and broken¡ªbut there.

    I was still crouched, staring up at her.

    Bell looked down at me. The blue light caught in her eyes, and I saw there the vast black empty circles she filled them with whenever she felt truly powerful.

    She looked down at me like some ancient oracle, wise beyond human years. All knowing. All seeing.

    Bell could have told me anything, and I¡¯d believe it.

    What I would have given to be a presence like that!

    It was what I craved¡ªBenji''s fear was a start, but it was nothing compared to the sheer emotion Bell could pull from others just by existing.

    I needed it. From the core of my bones.

    Only Bell could teach me how.

    Bell¡¯s head rolled back for half a second¡ªand I was worried she was about to metamorphose into some eldritch monster, show me her true form as an unknowable, unfathomable goddess¡ªbut all she was actually doing was cracking her neck.

    ¡°They¡¯re going to have to try harder than that,¡± she said.

    And her eyes were back to normal, or, at least, as normal as they ever got.

    We sat in silence for a second. I desperately tried to find something, anything to say¡ªand I couldn¡¯t.

    Bell said to me, ¡°Stand up.¡±

    I didn¡¯t even notice I was still crouching. Bowing, of sorts.

    I stood, sheepish.

    ¡°Thanks for keeping watch,¡± Bell said, quietly.

    ¡°You knew?¡± was all I could manage at that time.

    ¡°Of course.¡± Softly, slowly. Barely more than a whisper.

    I didn¡¯t know if that was true or not. I didn¡¯t care. I wanted it to be, so it was. It became truth by the sheer force of my will.

    I nodded. I intended to keep quiet, but instead I blurted: ¡°Ava thought you were going to die. The¡ªall the others did. I was the only one who knew you¡¯d make it.¡±

    Bell smiled.

    ¡°Of course I was going to make it,¡± she said. ¡°I can never die.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    Shame burst into my face. I couldn¡¯t possibly waste her time with what I was about to say.

    But she was the only person who¡¯d really listen.

    ¡°Everybody hates us,¡± I said to her, quietly.

    ¡°Of course they do,¡± Bell said, quietly. ¡°Does that make you feel ashamed?¡±

    Every inch of my skin burned. I drooped. I couldn¡¯t help it.

    Bell knew. ¡°Don¡¯t be ashamed, Erika,¡± she whispered. ¡°You are invincible, too.¡±

    And I wanted to believe her. Every sinew in my flesh ached to believe her. Every cell in my brain, every fiber in my heart¡ª

    But instead¡ª

    ¡°I¡¯ve been worried,¡± I blurted. Too fast to stop. Too scared to look her in the eye as I said it. ¡°About¡ªabout my future. What I do. I¡¯m¡ªI want to be like...¡±

    I took a breath. Evened myself. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be afraid anymore.¡±

    Bell asked me: ¡°Afraid of what?¡±

    ¡°Of¡ªof my future. Of what I could become. What I¡¯m...¡±

    I swallowed. It hurt me to say it. It went against my entire nature to admit that what was going to happen to me had no cure. That it was inevitable.

    My soul seethed against it.

    I hadn¡¯t been told it outright, but I knew it was. Sophia was beating around the issue. She knew what I was heading towards¡ªand she knew it was only a matter of time before no lens could save me.

    I was already pushing the limits of what contacts could do.

    I squeezed it through my teeth, because if Bell was strong enough to pull herself back from the brink, I could at least do this.

    I said, in a suffocated whisper: ¡°What I¡¯ll become when my eyes don¡¯t work anymore.¡±

    The word for it still eluded me. I couldn¡¯t say it. It wasn¡¯t in my vocabulary.

    But the sentiment¡ª

    Bell looked down at me. The mythical oracle of Unit 6.

    Mouth held in that quiet smile.

    ¡°There is only one way I know of abandoning fear completely,¡± Bell said.

    I had to know. She owned me. I was completely in her grasp.

    ¡°Please,¡± was all I said.

    The whirring of the air conditioning grew louder in my ears. Blood pumping through my face¡ªvision tunneled to show Bell and only Bell¡ª

    There was nothing in the world but¡ª

    Bell¡¯s right arm reached out from under the sheet¡ªblackened skin falling away and disintegrating. She was being reborn, right in front of me¡ª

    She took hold of my chin, pointed it up so I was facing her. So I couldn¡¯t possibly look away.

    I stared longer into Bell¡¯s eyes than I ever have. Than I ever wanted to again.

    And even with that length of time, I still found nothing at all.

    No joy. No fear. No love. No hate.

    The freedom that I craved.

    Bell said to me: ¡°Let yourself die.¡±

 33 - Psychosomatic Love Story (1) [June 16th, Age 14]

    Bell was released back to the regular world the next day. Sophia had left her the night before when she was still unconscious, without much hope of recovery¡ªand she returned in the morning to find Bell sitting cross-legged on the medical bed, skin spotless, hair all grown back. Completely fixed.

    Rumors state Sophia threw her hands in the air and kicked Bell out on the spot.

    As someone more in line with Bell¡¯s power level than Sophia¡¯s, and as someone without a strict superior in the Radiant, and possibly in the entire country, I could only imagine the sheer jealousy Sophia held for Bell: the seething red boiling under her skin as she saw Bell, inches from death only a few days before, sitting bright and bold on the medical bed, waiting for Sophia only as a courtesy. Bell had removed all of the medical machinery from herself and put it all away. There was nothing to be done but sit and stare, and then release.

    0             0             0

    We were all sitting around the big table in the common room, sipping our coffee (or tea, for Ava). The coffee we had was much better than the coffee in the cafeteria, so we tended to have breakfast two times¡ªonce with just us, where we didn¡¯t have to censor ourselves with quiet words in public¡ªand then again in full view of everyone else.

    The angry, hateful public.

    I don¡¯t know how I¡¯d gone so long without fully internalizing just how stigmatized unit 6 was among the rest of the Radiant. I understood we¡¯d be unpopular¡ªkill-squads rarely are¡ªbut the pseudo-ambulance driver¡¯s words from half a week ago still echoed like dull smacks in my brain: we were hated, we were shunned, and the rest of the Radiant waited with bated breath for Bell to die.

    Well, too bad for them.

    And as much as I wanted to apply that metaphorical shrug to myself, I couldn¡¯t do it. I couldn¡¯t get over that sickening hump¡ªevery time I saw someone in the hall that I didn¡¯t recognize, I put words in their head¡ªdespicable words. Words about me. Words about my friends.

    I wanted to grab the shoulders of anyone passing by and shake sense into them¡ªbeg them to realize that we were more than just soulless killers¡ªbut by that time around my fourteenth birthday, I wasn¡¯t sure if I could really do that.

    Maybe Ava was more than that. Yoru and Cygnus and Benji, too.

    But Bell and I were defined by it. It was the extent of us.

    I had nothing but it.

    So I sipped my coffee in sullen silence. Nobody spoke to me. I didn¡¯t speak to anyone.

    It was only when the door opened and Bell walked in, fresh as the day she left, that I realized I¡¯d forgotten to tell everyone that she woke up the night before. That she was alive.

    I didn¡¯t forget to hold what she said to me to myself, though.

    Bell walked in amidst the stares of the rest of the assembled, made a beeline for the coffee pot and poured herself a mug. Took the open seat¡ªthe one between me and Ava.

    She glanced around at everyone, meeting the eyes of everyone still staring¡ªthat is, Ava and Benji¡ªand took a little innocent sip.

    Like she¡¯d never left.

    Ava broke the silence.

    ¡°You¡¯re alive,¡± she said. I don¡¯t often describe sentences as ¡°stupid¡±, but Ava said it ¡°stupidly¡±¡ªlike she couldn¡¯t fathom a world in which Bell walked out of that room as opposed to being wheeled out of it.

    ¡°I am,¡± Bell replied.

    Despite myself, I smiled.

    Despite myself again, I said, ¡°I told you.¡±

    Ava ignored me. ¡°Heading out again, I assume?¡±

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Bell shook her head. ¡°Nah. I¡¯m taking a break for a while. Got some TV to catch up on.¡±

    She glanced at Cygnus, who was zoning out a little¡ªas soon as he realized Bell was looking at him, he looked up and smiled. Said, ¡°Believe it.¡±

    ¡°Not that one,¡± Bell replied, chuckling.

    ¡°Ever going to tell us where you¡¯ve been for six months?¡± Ava said.

    Bell¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I¡¯ve been dead for four days and the first thing I get is an interrogation,¡± she said. ¡°How about that.¡±

    ¡°I mean, this is probably the only chance I¡¯ll get,¡± Ava said, shrugging. ¡°Gotta make the most of it.¡±

    ¡°I just said I was going to be here for a while. At least a week, if not more. And I doubt I¡¯ll be doing any more six-month undercover missions for a long time. Jesus,¡± she said. Bell rubbed an eye. ¡°You know, it took me thirty minutes to remember what I looked like before so that the clean-up crew could find me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s nice,¡± Ava said. ¡°What the fuck were you doing?¡±

    ¡°If I could tell you, I already would have.¡±

    "Can we not?¡± Yoru interjected. ¡°Can we just¡ªnot fight over petty bullshit first thing in the morning? It¡¯s not even noon yet.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m with Ava on this one,¡± Benji said. ¡°I told you to go do this, and I thought it would take two weeks, tops, and you send me letters saying it¡¯s gonna take longer than that over and over again. What the fuck were you doing out there?¡±

    Cygnus said, ¡°Guys, let her finish breakfast. At least. Jesus.¡±

    Everyone fell quiet for a moment, and I realized that I was the only one who hadn¡¯t offered their opinion yet. Both hands cupped around the mug and without looking up, I said, ¡°Can¡¯t we talk about this later?¡±

    I could practically hear Ava¡¯s eyes roll. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to be gone in two hours,¡± Bell said. ¡°I¡¯ll still be here. I was in the hospital for four days. Lay off.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re fucking invincible!¡± Ava shouted. ¡°Like fuck you get to hide behind ¡°oh, I was in the hospital¡± as an excuse. Like that actually matters. Maybe that was your break.¡±

    Bell¡¯s voice was flat. Nothing in it at all. ¡°You seriously think I would choose to lay on a hospital bed, half-burned to death, with a feeding tube down my throat and an IV in my arm, to relax?¡±

    ¡°Who the hell knows with you?¡±

    ¡°Stop it!¡± Yoru snapped. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, now is not the goddamn time!¡±

    Ava shot Yoru a glare I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen between them. Even Yoru looked caught off guard by it.

    She looked back at Bell and said, ¡°You¡¯re barely even a part of the team. The absolute least you could do is tell us what you abandoned all of us to do for six whole fucking months. If we got attacked during that time, we¡¯d all be dead. You¡¯d have nothing to come back to.¡±

    "Maybe it took me six months because I was trying to stop you all from getting attacked.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯d know if you told us.¡±

    ¡°I was,¡± Bell said. Same flat tone. ¡°There. I told you.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯re just supposed to believe you.¡±

    ¡°Not like you would¡¯ve believed the truth anyway, would you?¡±

    ¡°You could at least try,¡± Ava said. A touch of pleading in her voice, scrambled by anger. ¡°You could at least pretend like you give a shit about us. Never once have you told anyone what you get up to. Benji pays you double what he pays everyone else. For what? What the hell do you do besides walk around and pretend to be menacing all day? You are the reason we have a shitty rap with the rest of the Radiant. You are¡ª¡±

    ¡°You wanted me dead,¡± Bell said, simply.

    Ava shut up.

    ¡°You were hoping I wasn¡¯t going to make it, and now you¡¯re bitter about it,¡± Bell said.

    Ava frowned. ¡°That¡¯s not¡ª¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Bell replied. She looked Ava dead in the eyes, and she was trapped in Bell¡¯s cold stare.  ¡°I¡¯ve fought too many people who thought they were powerful to fall to just another one. When I go, it¡¯ll take an army. A hundred keys against me¡ªand even then¡­¡±

    Bell sipped her coffee. Savored the flavor in silence while we all sat suspended. She finished: ¡°I choose when I die. I¡¯m not done yet.¡±

    Abruptly, Ava stood up, shoved her chair in, and stormed out of the room, pausing for half a second to grab her coffee mug on her way out.

    She slammed the door behind her, and we all turned and looked at each other, perplexed for a moment.

    I looked at Yoru. A few others noticed I was doing that and joined me.

    ¡°What?¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re not the same person. Fuck if I know.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re probably the only person who can talk to her about it,¡± Cygnus said.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    He grimaced. ¡°Yeah, probably.¡±

    Bell looked down for a half a second, examining how much coffee was left in the mug. ¡°It¡¯s kind of strange,¡± she said. ¡°To still be alive after everything I¡¯ve seen.¡±

    ¡°Can you at least say why you got burned?¡± Cygnus asked.

    She shrugged. ¡°Very powerful fire-key put his life on the line betting that he could burn me to death faster than I could regenerate myself. He was wrong.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯d love to hear the story sometime. But for now, welcome back.¡±

    He punctuated it with a smile. I know, for a fact, that Cygnus and Bell were hardly close friends. Their experiences with each other extended barely beyond the TV. But I admired his ability to be civil in the face of it all. It was something Ava clearly lacked.

    It was class. A real class act, Cygnus was. He always knew what to do.

    I watched him smile and felt myself do the same.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bell said. She returned his expression, and I swear it was the warmest feeling Bell had ever shown.

    Maybe, just this once, she was showing something she meant.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to not be dead,¡± Bell added.

    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard,¡± Cygnus replied.

 34 - Psychosomatic Love Story (2) [June 16th, Age 14]

    Yoru left not much later to go find Ava; he said he knew beyond much doubt where she went. We all sort of did too, since her secret weed room wasn¡¯t much of a secret anymore, but we all figured it would be better to just let him handle it.

    I spent the day wandering around and not doing much of anything. Bell did more or less the same. A few hours went by of me quietly avoiding her before I couldn¡¯t take it any longer.

    Maybe she¡¯d tell me things she wouldn¡¯t tell anyone else.

    I caught up to her in a hallway somewhere upstairs. To be completely honest, I wasn¡¯t entirely sure where I was. I was mostly hoping Bell knew, so she could lead me back to an area I recognized.

    It was on-and-off thunderstorming all day, so an outside-wander was a difficult proposition; that said, I was starting to get a little cabin fever. I wouldn¡¯t have minded getting rained on a little bit just to see something new.

    Not that I had to get rained on, mind you. I was more than capable of walking in a little bubble of dry air, no matter how hard it was pouring.

    Bell turned around, spoke to me first. ¡°We keep running into each other, huh.¡±

    ¡°I have nothing to do,¡± I said. ¡°Just¡­walking.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Same.¡±

    Bell looked away, turned to the far end of the hall. ¡°It¡¯s always weird having nothing to do. Especially after how busy I¡¯ve been. I¡¯m just¡­I have to keep reminding myself that it¡¯s over, you know?¡±

    I didn¡¯t really know. But I knew all about the repeated self-reminders. That was something I was very familiar with.

    So I told her the more-or-less truth, which was, ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been eight different people over the last six months,¡± she said. ¡°A real diverse cast.¡±

    I was on the edge of it. I knew. If I could just be a bit more encouraging¡ª

    ¡°Like who?¡±

    Bell smiled. ¡°You want to know where I¡¯ve been?¡±

    I nodded, fervently. Feverishly. I craved the knowledge.

    I mostly just wanted to hear Bell¡¯s voice. To be the sole recipient of what she was saying.

    Bell said, ¡°I was out in Buffalo. I assassinated the leader of the Buffalo gang. I invaded their ranks as a low-level grunt, and slowly shifted my way up. Killing and replacing members of their gang as I went. Learning about my superiors and all of their habits. Every inch of their lives so I could become them. And then¡ªwell, I got stuck. This stays between us, okay?¡±

    I would not tell a soul. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°I had to be the leader of the Buffalo gang for a while. That¡¯s why I can¡¯t tell Benji what exactly I was doing. I ordered the attack on you guys.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± I said.

    I had my guesses about what Bell was up to, and why she couldn¡¯t say, but none of them were that.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t feel like I was ever in any real danger,¡± I said. ¡°From that attack. But I¡­um¡­I wasn¡¯t myself, that day.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t entirely true. What I was that day was a part of me just like any other. Just because I chose not to think about it didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t there¡ªit existed in silent tandem with every one of my living minutes, just like my breath or my heartbeat.

    Bell grimaced. ¡°I¡¯m aware. I read the damage report.¡± She paused for a second, looked away. When she picked up her train of thought again, her voice was lower. ¡°Sometimes, it¡¯s just something I have to do. It would¡¯ve blown my cover if I didn¡¯t. Rumors of an intruder were swirling. That attack was on the schedule already, and if I cancelled it, it would¡¯ve been suspicious. Apparently Marie was playing both sides of the table¡ªshe¡¯d been talking to folks in Buffalo too. So I went through with it. Didn¡¯t really have much of a choice.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I said. ¡°They didn¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°One of them had become a relatively close friend of mine,¡± she said. ¡°Or at least, was supposed to be. When I was one of the mid-level people. I had to send him to his death. He didn¡¯t know that his best friend in the whole world had been replaced by me, and that same person, his boss now, was ordering him to die. It was¡­¡±

    She shrugged, again. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Surreal? Nothing that happened in those six months feels real to me. I¡¯ve been other people for so long. I¡¯m lucky I don¡¯t have much of a personality, otherwise it''d be a real struggle to remember how to be myself again.¡±

    I wanted to defend her comment about not having a personality, to refute it in some way, but I found I didn¡¯t really know what to say.

    The same was true for me. If I was in her place.

    I¡¯d struggle with the same thing.

    Bell looked up and down the hall. Nobody was coming. Frankly, I wasn¡¯t sure anyone ever walked down this hall. I certainly had no idea where we were, and I doubted anyone else knew, either.

    When Bell spoke again, her voice was even lower. ¡°Erika, I¡¯m going to let you in on a secret.¡±

    I went cold.

    Finally¡ªafter all these years¡ªtruth! Something I could cherish forever and ever.

    Someone who trusted me enough to reveal their darkest secrets.

    I braced myself for what she was about to say. It was going to be a real doozy. I was certain of it. I¡¯d been burned before, but this time would be different. I could feel it. She was really gearing up to let me in on a slice of her life nobody had ever seen. So buried deep within her heart that it was seeing the light of day for the first time here and now.

    I said, ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

    Bell checked both sides of the hall again.

    Then she spoke.

    ¡°I know the reason they hate me,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s justified. I¡¯d hate me too, in their position.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that,¡± I said. That was what I was supposed to say there, wasn¡¯t it? I was supposed to defend her, try and make her feel good.

    Bell was having none of it. ¡°I get that I¡¯m not a normal person,¡± she said, waving away my concern. ¡°I get it. The things people say...well, you¡¯ve seen me. You know they¡¯re true.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not,¡± I replied, limply.

    ¡°But they are,¡± Bell pushed on. ¡°It used to bother me. Quietly, and only when nobody was looking, and over time I shoved that so far down that it disappeared, but I used to worry about what people thought of me all the time. Being so many different people so often made me feel vulnerable whenever I was someone I considered ¡°myself.¡± Now, though...¡± She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve spent so long in so many different bodies. As so many different people from so many different places, and...people are just not as special as they think they are. When you¡¯ve seen as many perspectives as I have, you¡ªyou get numb to them. You stop really seeing them as people, and instead as just...fact sheets. Lists to memorize. Because if you memorize the list well enough, people won¡¯t really get suspicious.¡±

    She paused for a moment, and when she picked up her train of thought again, it was stronger¡ªthe slight distance out of her voice. ¡°Would you notice if a co-worker was replaced with a ninety-five percent perfect fake?¡± she said, directly to me instead of arbitrarily to the space I was near.

    ¡°I...maybe?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Would you notice if Yoru was replaced? By someone who looked just like him, acted almost exactly like him? You don¡¯t talk to him all that much.¡±

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    As much as I didn¡¯t want to, I nodded. But I added, ¡°I think I¡¯d notice if you replaced Cygnus.¡±

    Bell shook her head. Looked me dead-center with her stupid impenetrable dead-fish eyes. ¡°I could replace Cygnus in my sleep. Out of everyone here, he¡¯d be the easiest. I could get him ninety-eight percent down. Maybe ninety-nine. Only Prochazka would notice, and even then¡ªit would take him months. Maybe a year.¡±

    I wanted to doubt her, but I could not touch her confidence.

    So all I did was shrug. Passively say, ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Bell took a breath, looked around some more. We were still perfectly alone. Not a chance in the world anyone would find us.

    She went on: ¡°This is the kind of thing that makes everyone nauseous, when they think about flesh-keys and telepaths. We don¡¯t...thanks to our keys, it¡¯s really hard to see people the way you did before. When you look at someone as an elemental key, you see their humanity, you know? You see them, and you don¡¯t know their hopes and dreams. You meet a stranger and all you¡¯ve got to go on are your own kindness and stereotypes. First impressions are everything. They¡¯re a complete package¡ªcompletely opaque. You have to learn about them the same way they have to learn about you. But to a telepath¡ªthere''s no person there. There¡¯s a brain, and the brain has some amount of defense¡ªand some things are well-guarded, and others aren¡¯t. And everything below the brain is just a flesh-robot the brain operates. Nothing else matters unless it makes you hard or wet. Flesh keys are the same way.¡±

    She pursed her lips for a moment. ¡°Everything can be replaced, Erika. Every part of a body can be swapped out if the flesh-key is strong enough. People often say that telepaths are generically the strongest key, but garnets of sufficient strength can expel their own cancer. We¡¯re immortal. Actually immortal. And we get to choose if other keys live or die. Telepaths get to control the computer, but garnets get to control the robot. And we get to service the robot. And we get to upgrade the robot. And we get to take apart the robot if we want to. Better hands, better legs, better eyes, better lungs¡ªso much of humanity is based on the fact that bodies don¡¯t work all the time. That bodies can fail. Old age. Sickness. Injury. All of those things¡ªwhen none of them matter, you find that...that not a whole lot else does, either. It¡¯s life without consequence. The same thing telepaths complain about. We just get to ignore the rules. You...one day, you¡¯re still going to get cancer and die, unless you go out on your own terms. I won¡¯t. I¡¯m immortal. I¡¯m going to live as long as I choose. And I don¡¯t have biological rules to play by. Garnets and telepaths live in a sandbox, but the sandbox is reality. And it¡¯s unhinging, Erika. It makes us inhuman.¡±

    She took a few steps toward one end of the hall. ¡°I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s possible to be a garnet or a telepath and still see people the way you did when you were young. I¡¯m not really sure I could go back to seeing people as more than the sum of their parts if I tried. All I see are the parts, and how they fit together. I understand what having a broken part does to someone, but...that¡¯s more through experience than intuition. Humans are modular to me.¡±

    Suddenly, she broke into a snicker. ¡°This is probably the most vulnerable I¡¯ll ever be. Never confessed anything like that to anyone before.¡±

    I was still hung up on the idea that every body part could be replaced.

    ¡°Everything is replaceable,¡± I echoed.

    Bell nodded. ¡°Even brains, I would assume. To a sufficiently powerful garnet.¡±

    ¡°Like you.¡±

    Bell broke into a tiny smile.

    ¡°Like me.¡±

    The next thought struck me too hard and fast to evaluate before I said it. ¡°What about love?¡±

    ¡°What about it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°When you have to be someone who¡¯s in love,¡± I said. ¡°Can you still be sure they won¡¯t catch you?"

    Bell pursed her lips for a second. Thin red lines across her borderline emaciated face.

    ¡°It depends,¡± she said. ¡°Young love is usually easy. I spent four weeks as some poor soul¡¯s girlfriend for a while, and he never found out. It was almost comically simple. I think if I had to replace Yoru or Ava, for whatever reason, the other would notice. That¡¯s young love, sure, but they¡¯re never going to be with anyone else. There¡¯s just no chance they don¡¯t spend the rest of their lives together, I think. I¡¯d get maybe a few days on either one before they¡¯d notice. For couples that are just trapped with each other, I get free reign to do basically whatever I want. The only time¡­hmm.¡±

    She trailed off for a second. ¡°Story time, Erika.¡±

    I jolted to attention. ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°I had to replace some old man a while ago to get some secrets out of his wife about an organization she was a part of. This was, ah, maybe two years back. I thought I was hot shit, you know? Untouchable. Undiscoverable. I could be anyone I wanted for however long I chose and nobody would ever find out. I walk into this old couple¡¯s house in the shape of her husband, and she calls me out in fifteen minutes.¡±

    I blinked. I had never heard a story of Bell failing to complete something.

    ¡°She didn¡¯t say much of anything the whole time I was there. I came in after a ¡°walk to the pond¡± as the old man did on Sunday mornings, and I went to go cook some brunch, and as I was serving us the omelets, the woman looked at me across the table and said, all calm like it was any old thing, ¡°You¡¯re not my husband.¡±

    ¡°For a moment I was taken aback; I thought I¡¯d been doing a perfect job. So I tried to talk her down, change the subject, but she just kept shaking her head and saying, ¡°You¡¯re not Ron. I don¡¯t know who you are, but you¡¯re not Ron. So I did something I¡¯d never done before.¡±

    I looked up at her. The person I needed most in the whole wide world.

    I asked: ¡°What?¡±

    Bell shrugged. ¡°I gave up. I told the truth.¡±

    Bell had been doing a lot of shrugging that day. I guess it¡¯s all you can really do when your life doesn¡¯t make any sense. I shrugged a lot, too. Some days it felt like all I had.

    ¡°I told the woman to look away for a moment, and she told me she¡¯d watch because she suspected I was some kind of devil and she didn¡¯t want to be deceived. So I turned back into myself while she watched. It took, ah, maybe a minute. Forty-five seconds if I¡¯m being generous. And the whole time, she just quietly watched me do my thing, and when I was done I told her who I was. I said my name was Bell, and that I was sent by the Radiant to find out what you did for a living, because we needed to determine if the company you worked for was dangerous or not. And she just laughed and told me that she hated all of her fucking coworkers¡ªexact quote¡ªand that she¡¯d rat out every last one of them for shits and giggles.¡±

    Bell shrugged, again. ¡°She asked me where her husband was, and I said he was out fishing, because that was the truth, and I knew they rarely told each other where they were going because they simply knew that they¡¯d be home by six-thirty for dinner every night regardless. And if they didn¡¯t know what the other was up to, they¡¯d have better stories to tell over the table.

    ¡°Before she spilled the beans, I asked her how she knew I wasn¡¯t her husband, and she said the number of steps I took from the door to the kitchen was wrong. How¡¯s that?

    Bell smiled a tiny bit, inside the memory. ¡°And, well, she told me everything I wanted to know, and when I went to go she said to me that all I really had to do was ask, and all of this trickery was worthless, because at the end of the day it wouldn¡¯t have worked no matter how hard I would¡¯ve studied. I don¡¯t think I ever would have thought to memorize the number of steps her husband took to get from the door to the kitchen. I always thought height and age was enough to extrapolate gait, but¡­well, he took really long steps for a seventy-four-year-old. He walked like an upright bullfrog, she said. I asked her if she was at all scared that this happened, that I was there, and she said no because, quite frankly, you did a terrible job. Although it¡¯s not your fault because you never would have been able to fool me in the first place.

    ¡°So the next day, Ava, Yoru, Rachel and I went down to the campus her old employer operated out of, and we slaughtered everyone in there. Normally I wouldn¡¯t have gone for something like that, but I volunteered to be on the kill squad. The old woman told me that she wanted me to strangle the head of that company with my own two hands, wearing her face. She wanted me to take her shape and kill the CEO as her. And, well, I was down for that, that sounded like a nice bit of vengeance. She gave me some reference photos for what she looked like when she was a few years younger, just before she retired, and she told me to come back to her and let her know when it was done. So I kept my word.¡±

    Bell paused. ¡°After that, I swore off old love. Couples happily married for forty-plus years are beyond me. Beyond any flesh-key, I think. It¡¯s just not something you can ever fake.¡±

    By that time, though, I was thinking about other things.

    I was wondering if Cygnus would notice if Bell replaced me.

    0             0             0

    I had my feelings about Cygnus fairly squared up. I knew the ins and outs of them. They were neatly compartmentalized in a part of my brain I tried to rarely visit so I wouldn¡¯t get distracted by him whenever we had real things to do.

    But I wasn¡¯t an idiot. I knew that the odds of him feeling the same way about me were slim to none. For one, I was three years younger than him, and if we were older that wouldn¡¯t be a big deal, but he was seventeen and I was fourteen, so that didn¡¯t fly.

    And for another, he was whole, and I was not. He deserved better than me.

    The truth is that I could never be quite sure that what I felt for Cygnus wasn¡¯t just a desperate craving for his attention. I didn¡¯t know the difference between that and love. I couldn¡¯t begin to say what love was that my feeling for Cygnus wasn¡¯t; but at the same time, I couldn¡¯t describe exactly what it was that made me think it was love in the first place.

    The difference between love and friendship was too much for me when all I¡¯d ever wanted was for people to not be disgusted by my existence. I was perfectly happy to just have friends, I thought.

    I figured.

    0             0             0

    Yoru said to me, when I checked up on him, that he was going to go out of the factory to find Ava since he had a decent idea of where she went if she wasn¡¯t here. I asked him how long his list of places to check was, in total¡ªbetween the factory and outside¡ªand he said he had around fifteen different locations he figured she could be.

    I couldn¡¯t imagine knowing someone so well that I could rattle off fifteen likely locations for them to go when they were having a rough go of it. I couldn¡¯t do that for Cygnus, for certain.

    So maybe I didn¡¯t love him.

    It was something along the lines of eleven o¡¯clock when Yoru came back home with Ava in tow, and I saw them come in since I was heading down to the bar at the time. I watched them from the doorway to the basement, walking silently through the dimmed and still foyer to the staircase in the back, disappearing upstairs to do whatever it was lovers did.

    I didn¡¯t have that.

    And I didn¡¯t have what the old couple Bell told me about had. I couldn¡¯t say where Cygnus would go if he left in anger. I couldn¡¯t say what I would do to calm him down. I couldn¡¯t say what I would do to bring him back. I couldn¡¯t count the steps he took to get from the staircase to the bar, couldn¡¯t say for sure what he¡¯d order from the look in his eyes, couldn¡¯t say how long he¡¯d stay, couldn¡¯t say how much he wanted to see me.

    I didn¡¯t have that, either.

    When I was ten or eleven, all I ever wanted was a couple of friends. Now I had them, and I was wishing I had even more.

    Selfish, selfish. I had everything I wanted. What more could I possibly ask for?

    How much further was I willing to tempt fate with pointless questions?

    So that night, lying alone in my bed, I did what Bell did when she was discovered. I gave up. I told myself the truth.

    It was all in my head, nothing more.

 35 - Heartless / Mindless / Loveless / Lifeless (1) [July 30th, Age 14]

    Prochazka¡¯s office, ten-thirty in the morning. As usual as it ever got for us.

    The only deviation from the norm was that every single person in Unit 6 had something to do except me¡ªalthough, given my presence in Prochazka¡¯s office, I assumed that was about to change.

    I took a seat in one of the more comfortable chairs¡ªquietly thankful I didn¡¯t need to use the spare¡ªand after a brief exchange of banal pleasantries, he cut to the chase.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a busy few days,¡± he said. ¡°To the point where if I didn¡¯t have housekeeping things to do, I¡¯d probably have to put myself on this mission with you.¡±

    With Prochazka, ¡°housekeeping¡± meant something between ¡°ensuring all the other units were doing their jobs,¡± ¡°literal housekeeping,¡± and ¡°shooting a possible traitor in the head while they sorted mail.¡±

    It was just one of his terms. All it really meant was ¡°something I can¡¯t, or don¡¯t want to, tell you about.¡±

    So I shrugged and said okay.

    ¡°Personal policy says I never send people on missions like this by themselves, but you¡¯ve had a good track record on solos so far, and this is urgent, so¡­¡±

    He grimaced. ¡°Times like these make me wish I had the budget for another hire.¡±

    I¡¯d always wondered where Unit 6 got their money from. My understanding was that it was Unit 1¡¯s job to secure funds, or maybe Unit 4¡¯s. I wasn¡¯t sure. It wasn¡¯t ever important to us. Maybe Prochazka had a big hedge fund or something and we all lived off the interest. Maybe Unit 1 was another group of clandestine operatives just like us, a bunch of bank robbers and jewel thieves making something from nothing. That sounded way cooler than what I did.

    It could¡¯ve been anything, really. There was very little about Prochazka or the workings of his organization that would¡¯ve surprised me.

    Another note¡ªmy ¡°track record¡± on solos was only good because I did so few of them. In all fairness to myself, it was a perfect success rate, but one-hundred-percent in this case was only three out of three, and all of those were simple hits that were hard to mess up.

    It turned out that it was very hard to send me on solo missions because I couldn¡¯t drive, and there was little for public transportation around the factory.

    ¡°What am I doing?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Rescue,¡± he replied.

    I blinked. That was far from my usual, which I supposed I should have been expecting given the circumstance.

    Prochazka grimaced. ¡°I never send people alone on rescue missions. One person can¡¯t really be trusted to keep eyes on all sides of their head at once. That being said, you¡¯ve been ambushed unsuccessfully¡­what, four times now?¡±

    ¡°Eight,¡± I said, sitting up a little straighter. I was really proud of that stat. It was a nice number to remember whenever I was having a bad day.

    ¡°I suppose you only tell me when you¡¯ve been ambushed half the time, then,¡± he said, expressionless.

    I faltered. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t hold that kind of information from me,¡± he said. ¡°Knowing you¡¯ve been ambushed eight times makes me¡­even less thrilled about the fact that I have to send you on this one alone anyway.¡±

    ¡°None of them worked, though,¡± I said.

    ¡°True.¡± He went quiet for a moment. ¡°Well, whatever. I just have to trust you. I don¡¯t get to second-guess this.¡±

    Business time. I nodded.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got a mentally-unstable fire-key outside of Syracuse that apparently abducted some little girl. We¡¯re don¡¯t want to make a scene¡ªwe¡¯re almost certain that if she isn¡¯t there, this guy¡¯s not going to lash out or anything. He¡¯s unstable but he¡¯s not outwardly violent.¡±

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    I shrugged. It didn¡¯t matter.

    Prochazka went on. ¡°He¡¯s convinced this kid is the antichrist. He¡¯s got the child in his house somewhere, but he hasn¡¯t figured out what he¡¯s going to do yet. That¡¯s¡­all the intel we have, really. What I want you to do is just remove her from this guy¡¯s presence. Bring her to the bus terminal¡ªher family is going to be on the bus arriving at 1:12 AM from Buffalo. Have her get on the bus and don¡¯t let her family see you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Yeah. Head over there tonight. Cut it close but not too close¡ªtry and get there while he¡¯s sleeping, but make sure you leave enough time to walk a small child to the bus stop.¡±

    All of that trust in me.

    I swallowed.

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    0 0 0

    So that night at around ten-thirty, I drank a cup of coffee and put another in a disposable paper cup for the road, since I figured it was going to be a late night, and the last thing I wanted was to crash in the middle of a skirmish.

    Then I walked down to the bus terminal. It was about a twenty-minute walk, all things told, including the time I spent getting out of the factory. Down the driveway and along that slumped row of highway-facing buildings down to a gap in the town, a hole in the development scooped out by God, where there was nothing for twenty feet around or more but a black-painted steel and glass covered bench and a bunch of signage depicting where one was and where one could be. I caught some odd glances from late-night walkers as they went by, but nobody stopped to ask me any questions.

    I sat down on the bench, rolled the sole of my shoe over the tube of a syringe on the ground.

    It was a warm enough night¡ªright around the temperature where you don¡¯t even notice that there is one. Fairly dry; it hadn¡¯t rained in a week, which was another reason to keep the coffee on me. It was an emergency source of water in case I needed to make something happen.

    Kicking my legs back and forth, waiting for the bus. Sitting just outside the cone of light from one of the dim lamps on the roof of the bus stop.

    I was nothing and no-one.

    And then it arrived, the headlights announcing the noise and the procession of advertisements plastered along the side of it. The doors opened and white light cascaded out, revealing steps to heaven.

    I stood up, went inside. Paid for my fare, took a seat somewhere secluded, and watched the town fade into the rhythmic passing of streetlights on the highway.

    0 0 0

    I was sent on solo missions so rarely that it the gravity of being on one always stuck with me. I didn¡¯t feel the presence of a teammate on missions so much as I felt the absence of one¡ªthere was a void shaped like Yoru or Ava or Cygnus sitting in the aisle seat next to me on the bus, and every time I looked away it shifted rapidly between the three in the corner of my vision.

    It made me acutely aware that I had no backup. No recourse.

    11:15 PM. Dark as it would get. I took a sip of the coffee I¡¯d brought, cupping it between my hands as if it was my only source of warmth. I think knew it was going to be a long night. Prochazka only put me on overnights once in a blue moon, which made this task being mine all the more alien. He liked putting Cygnus on stuff like this¡ªoften alone. And I think Cygnus liked being put on these kinds of missions, too. He liked being a night-warrior. Made him feel like a true-blood vigilante.

    Someone who truly embodied the spirit of justice.

    Sometimes I think back¡ªwith the wisdom of hindsight¡ªand I see the Radiant for what everyone saw them as. We always thought ourselves as omnipotent, as self-determining¡ªbut every other unit knew the truth: that we were simple and violent and hateful people who let ourselves be aimed in good directions.

    But Cygnus was different. I never thought of him that way. No matter what happened, I always believed he really did have everyone¡¯s best interests at heart.

    That he always knew right from wrong.

    This is a contradiction I live with. It¡¯s one of many that I have that I simply choose to not think about. By that time at the Radiant¡ªand forever after¡ªthe morality of the things I did simply did not occur to me. I didn¡¯t ever give them more than a passing thought. Maybe I just didn¡¯t allow myself to¡ªand yet I always knew that whatever Cygnus was doing was right. Morally correct, as if any such objective thing as that existed.

    I know there¡¯s no point in arguing over stuff like that now. It¡¯s all semantics. It means something different to everyone, so it means nothing it all.

    But in the context of Cygnus and Cygnus alone, I let it slide.

    Over time I found it got easier and easier to live with contradictions like that. Over time I simply stopped worrying about them. What was the point? What would worrying solve?

    Nothing. Worrying about why morals only applied to Cygnus wouldn¡¯t make my opinions change. Worrying about why I felt next to nothing while rolling heads wouldn¡¯t change the fact that I was being paid to do so.

    Worrying about who I was becoming wouldn¡¯t make anything in my life make any more sense.

    I was too fast and too slow, too old and too young, too strong and too weak. It didn¡¯t make sense. I didn¡¯t need it to make sense. It wasn¡¯t supposed to make sense, I figured, and because of that it made me an individual. It made me more than the sum of my parts.

    And the nagging voice in the back of my head could stuff it.

    I would never admit it to the team¡ªand I never did¡ªbut I hated overnight missions.

    Despite everything I¡¯ve gained and the person I¡¯ve become, some part of me never stopped being afraid of the dark.

 36 - Heartless / Mindless / Loveless / Lifeless (2) [July 31st, Age 14]

    Getting inside the kidnapper¡¯s house was easy. He lived in an old row-house with a standard lock-and-key door, and it was well-established that those were trivial for me.

    By that time, it was close to twelve-thirty. The house was another fifteen minute walk away from the bus terminal, and the whole time I was walking I was thinking about how far a mile walk was for someone as young as the person I was tasked with saving.

    It was fifteen minutes for me, but probably closer to twenty for her. Twenty minutes of fear. Twenty minutes of praying we wouldn¡¯t be followed.

    I chose not think about it any more than that. One thing at a time. The door¡¯s lock clicked open. Focus on stepping into the house quietly. Don¡¯t make noise. Find the basement steps. Remember not to turn any lights on.

    The house had, presumably, three floors¡ªupstairs, where I assumed the bad man was¡ªthe ground floor where I entered, and the basement, where the girl was. If I just went right to the basement and right out again, nobody would ever know I was there.

    Assuming the girl didn¡¯t scream or cry when I woke her up.

    I could barely remember being six years old. It was entirely possible that I went a whole year without saying or doing a single thing. It wasn¡¯t even that long ago, really¡ªmore than half my life, but not by much¡ªand even then, the memories were fuzzy. They just as well could¡¯ve been things I was told, things I used to supplant the truth in favor of something that made a little more sense.

    I only really remember being alone.

    There was a door in the center of the floor that couldn¡¯t have led to a room¡ªthe space around it was too small to be anything other than a staircase. So I went to the knob and turned it slowly, cognizant of every tiny creak, and pulled the door open so slowly that it was close to imperceptible.

    Then I crept down the steps.

    Down there it was pitch-black. There was no tiny window leading to the backyard high on a wall like some basements had¡ªthe only light in the room at all came from the door above, and even then it was barely anything.

    I had to turn a light on.

    So I went back up the steps¡ªchecking each stair for creaks before I put my full weight down¡ªand closed the door entirely.

    Back down again. Even with the quarter-light coming from the door when it was open, I still hadn¡¯t found a switch or a pull-cord for a lamp. Which left me aimlessly patting around in the dark for one.

    But even if I found it, I realized, I¡¯d be flipping the room from pitch dark to full-brightness, which would wake the girl up suddenly, which could make her scream and then I¡¯d be back to square one.

    I needed a new plan.

    So I sat down on the second-to-last step and thought. Set the half-drank coffee cup down next to me.

    There wasn¡¯t any meaningful source of water down here. No sinks, dry air. I¡¯d have to break something if I wanted some water. All I had was what was left in my coffee cup.

    I popped the top off the cup and drew the whole drink out, leaving gently damp coffee sludge behind. It was only a couple ounces¡ªmaybe four. I already regretted drinking so much¡ªI was wide awake, sure, but for what?

    Slowly, it occurred to me what I had to do. I split the floating ball of coffee-water into two smaller lumps¡ªone about a quarter of the other. I stood from the steps and expanded the bigger ball outward into smaller and smaller droplets, until it was a light fog covering the whole room¡ªso light it was barely perceptible.

    But I could feel it. And I knew¡ªfrom the depressions and shapes that pushed into it¡ªthat there was a big rectangle along the left wall, and a smaller, soft shape curled up on it. It was either the body on a cot, or a pile of clothes on a table¡ªbut I was willing to bet it was the former.

    And so I took the smaller ball, which was no wider than a fingertip, and I sent it over to where the soft shape was, and I dropped it on the spot I assumed the head was. That ball was big enough to be classified as a fat raindrop¡ªand I condensed the fog around her to catch her reaction.

    The fat raindrop splatter on the side of her head, and her eyelids flicked open right away.

    I whispered, into the air: ¡°I¡¯m not the man upstairs. Wake up.¡±

    She tensed¡ªand slowly, rolled over, facing the source of the whisper.

    No scream. Minimal sound.

    Warmth swelled in my chest. Quickly now¡ª

    ¡°My name is Erika. I represent Jan Prochazka of the Radiant. I¡¯m here to save you.¡±

    I recollected the fat raindrop and splattered it on the floor next to the cot¡ªcollected it up again, and dropped it. A sound-marker that led her¡ªas she crawled out of the bed and slowly walked towards me, rubbing her eyes in the darkness¡ªto the steps where I was.

    I could not see her at all. I could see nothing in that basement.

    And yet¡ª

    She came to me, and I could only barely make out the shape of someone small.

    But I looked down and I said again: ¡°I¡¯m here to save you.¡±

    0             0             0

    I drew the water back into my cup, just in case.

    We climbed the steps in slow silence. Snuck out of the house. Closed and locked the door.

    And only then did I let my breath out for real.

    Twelve-forty PM.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I said.

    ¡°Where¡ªwhere are we going?¡± she asked, quietly.

    Now that we were somewhere with light, I could get a look at her. Small brown-haired girl, about six years old. Small even for her age, I think. Sort of dirty and unkempt looking. That all made sense, though. I doubted the guy upstairs was very vigilant about child-care.

    I was worried that she¡¯d look like me, but she didn¡¯t.

    ¡°To the bus stop,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re in Syracuse.¡±

    ¡°The bus stop,¡± she echoed.

    ¡°Your parents are meeting us there,¡± I said. ¡°And then you¡¯re going to leave town.¡±

    Look at me. Really doing it.

    How swell.

    I reached down and took her hand. It seemed like the right thing to do.

    As soon as I did, though, she sniffled.

    ¡°He¡ª¡± she started. ¡°He lit his hands on fire. In front of me. And he didn¡¯t get hurt. And he¡ª¡±

    She sniffled and gulped back a noise, and her sentence trailed off into nothing.

    I kept walking. We couldn¡¯t afford to stop.

    I couldn¡¯t afford to think about the fact that he used magic in front of her.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    How had we managed to keep magic a secret for this long? There¡¯s so many wackjobs and so few of us. Something, eventually, will slip through the cracks¡ªand the odds are good it¡¯ll be someone who thinks a random six-year-old is the antichrist instead of someone looking to bring fresh water and vegetables to the famine-stricken.

    ¡°You can¡¯t tell anyone about that,¡± I said to her. ¡°Promise?¡±

    She nodded, teary-eyed.

    Maybe a story would work. Anything to keep us both occupied.

    I swallowed. I was like him, though. What would she do if she found out? Did she just associate that kind of thing with evil, now?

    I could nip that in the bud right away, at least.

    ¡°You can¡¯t tell anyone I told you this,¡± I said. It didn¡¯t matter, though, did it? She already knew. Nothing I could say would make her forget the time she was kidnapped and a man lit his hands on fire in front of her. Probably accused her of unimaginable things. Nothing I could do would make her doubt herself on this. No words I could make could undo what had been done to her.

    And I didn¡¯t want to try undo it. Her impression of magic was truer than she could know. Filtered through a child¡¯s polarized lens, sure, where everything is black or white or good or evil¡ªbut the line was just so thin. I was one of the bad people. I could not lie to her¡ªI couldn¡¯t say I wasn¡¯t just a different shade of the man who claimed she would be the serpent that swallows the world.

    Any mediating statement I could make would be a lie. Deceiving her like that when she had so much to worry about already¡ª

    Don¡¯t look back, now, Erika¡ªdon¡¯t look back.

    ¡°He was magic,¡± I said.

    ¡°Magic?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m magic, too,¡± I said. ¡°But he¡¯s a bad magician, and I¡¯m a good magician.¡±

    She blinked, and so did I. But now I had to go through with it. I committed.

    To show it off, I flicked the lid off my coffee cup¡ªwhich I¡¯d thankfully remembered to grab off the steps on my way out¡ªand drew the water out of it. I shaped it into a heart in the air, let it beat a few times at about half the speed of my own, and then put it back.

    The girl watched, entranced.

    ¡°I can control water,¡± I said. ¡°My friends are magic, too. One of them can control the air, and one can control plants, and another can control metal.¡±

    I decided not to tell her about Bell. Not that it mattered, but in the moment I was lucky enough to realize that there was no good way to describe what a flesh-key did that wouldn¡¯t scar a child for life.

    And Benji wasn¡¯t my friend, anyway. And I was being fairly generous including Ava in the list¡ªwe had an agreement to be civil to each other, but I would hardly call her any more than that and I doubted she would do the same if pressed.

    ¡°Wow,¡± she said, but it was distant¡ªshe wasn¡¯t really listening to me.

    That was okay, I supposed. Not listening to me is the right call about half the time.

    We crossed the street at an illegal time¡ªshe didn¡¯t want to walk when she saw the red-hand sign, but I pulled her across and said it was okay, so she followed.

    ¡°The man said I was going to be magical one day,¡± she said. ¡°That was why he kidnapped me.¡±

    Fire keys don¡¯t get to know that kind of thing. I wasn¡¯t sure anyone did.

    Delusional people.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be magic like him,¡± she went on. ¡°I want to be magic like you.¡±

    I went cold. For longer than I wanted to, I was lost for words. My response came too late to be organic. I messed it up.

    ¡°Magic is a big responsibility,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s hard enough just to get by as an adult. You don¡¯t want the extra work.¡±

    Was that only true for me? I looked down inside myself and realized I was jealous of this girl¡ªsomeone who¡¯d never get magic, who had a family that loved her, and¡ªshamefully¡ªwho¡¯d only have one trauma, a single event she could point back to and say this¡ªthis is the reason I can¡¯t make heads or tails of who I am. This is the reason my life doesn¡¯t make sense like it¡¯s supposed to.

    This child would search for evidence that would prove this night true for the rest of her life, and God¡ªI hoped with all my soul she¡¯d never find it. God grant her the grace to accept this for what it was; a bad dream one night in a normal childhood. A blip on the radar. A nightmare vivid enough for life.

    I¡¯d lied to her again. Magic was awesome. It was the only thing that kept me sane. It was the one, singular thing that I could take true solace in.

    I didn¡¯t know what I wanted her to think, and I realized that the more I opened my mouth, the worse I would make it.

    But she kept talking. ¡°I¡¯m scared, Erika.¡±

    I was, too.

    I glanced around, looking for the handful of landmarks I¡¯d noted on my way there to use as progress-points for the way back, and I found that¡ªas we walked by a gas station¡ªwe were barely halfway.

    Not a single car had passed us since we locked the door. The earth was still and silent, and the sky a deep black void, a shadow cast on the heaven by the ground. No stars over the world. In those moments it felt like the entirety of existence was limited to the handful of square miles that comprised the neighborhoods of Syracuse that girl had been brought to. Everything else was undetailed, a landscape drawn on a wall. There was no forest. No highway in the distance¡ªthe little blips of car-headlights that moved by were nothing more than projections on a screen, and if I turned back just for a moment I could see the projectionist and his films, the cameras pointed every which-way, as a he simulated the empty universe we walked through.

    Don¡¯t look back, now, Erika. Don¡¯t look back.

    Very faintly, somewhere off behind the curtain of buildings to our left¡ªa lone speaker playing quiet music. Loud enough for me to tell there were words in it but not loud enough for me to figure out what they were.

    Existence was just a single street, a sidewalk on either side. There was a man in the gas station convenience store. His head angled down, but he was too blurry to properly determine what he was doing. It would have been tough to discern even without my condition, but my inability to do so sent a shiver-pang down my back anyway. Maybe he was counting money, maybe he was plotting something. I couldn¡¯t know and I never would.

    Before us was a flickering streetlamp. One blink every fifteen seconds or so. We approached it slowly, the girl¡¯s hand in mine, even measured steps like we were coming before an altar.

    I had to respond to her. I couldn¡¯t just let her be scared. Even though I was. Even though it was totally justifiable to be scared¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t bring myself to lie to her again. Now that I was aware of it, I had no excuses to mask what I was doing from that little core part of me that paradoxically cared about things like this but not about things like what I wanted to do to that man, but wasn¡¯t allowed to.

    Don¡¯t look back, now.

    I needed a backup. A work-around for myself. The stress of thinking about it made me squeeze the girl¡¯s hand a little tighter, and when she squeezed back I remembered she was there¡ªa real life warm body that needed me, right now, just this once¡ªand in the numb world we walked through, where there was no air but also no need to breathe and there was no sound and nothing but raw distance, nothing but a pure calculation of footsteps from here to there, I remembered.

    I returned.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Bella,¡± she said back to me.

    God, really?

    Small-talk was king. Anything I could do to keep me from thinking about the projectionist, who I knew for absolute one-hundred-percent certainty was there, and once I saw him I would never be able to see the world for what it was again.

    Don¡¯t¡ª

    ¡°I know someone named Bell,¡± I said, slowly. Every word was a triumph over myself. ¡°She told me it was short for something but wouldn¡¯t tell me what. I always thought it was Campbell, but maybe it¡¯s Bella.¡±

    ¡°My name is Campbell too,¡± she said. ¡°But everyone calls me Bella.¡±

    What were the odds?

    I snickered, despite myself. ¡°What?¡± she asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± I said. I couldn¡¯t explain it, anyway. I wasn¡¯t about to try to explain irony to a six-year-old.

    ¡°Is Bell a magician like you?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied.

    ¡°A good one?¡±

    I grimaced. ¡°I think so, but I don¡¯t think my friends really believe me on that.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    A flash of frustration popped into my head, and it suddenly became clear to me¡ªfor reasons outside of my own existence¡ªwhy Benji hated kids so much. But I took a step back from it, like I was taught, and came to the conclusion that she was doing exactly what I was doing: looking for something, anything, to keep her from looking back and seeing the projectionist.

    How was I supposed to explain Bell to a six-year-old when Bell couldn¡¯t even explain herself to me?

    As long as I said something, enough of the purpose would be accomplished to make the actual meat of my answer not matter. We were both just trying to get by, right? Just trying to fill the stale air. It didn¡¯t matter what I said as long as I said words.

    God, I was exhausted. This was the part in rescue missions where I¡¯d shut up and fall back and Ava or Yoru would take point. Talk to the target. Comfort them.

    What was I supposed to do? I was this girl. We were closer than she would ever know. Ten years from now, when she¡¯s struggling through school because she¡¯s bogged down by the memory we were making that night, haunted by the knowledge of magic she could never find, she¡¯d think about the strong, quiet girl who took her hand and led her home¡ªthe girl who would age alongside her in her memory, even when she¡¯d be older than I am now.

    She would never know how hard this was for me.

    ¡°Do you like math?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said, with a completely limp tone that suggested.

    ¡°Well¡ª¡± I pursed my lips. Ran a trial of my next few words before I spoke them. ¡°Think of it like this. If we¡¯ve got a list of numbers, one through ten, and ¡°one¡± is someone who does only good things, and a ¡°ten¡± is someone who does only bad things, Bell is¡ªa three or a four. She¡¯s a good magician who¡­occasionally does bad things. I rank her at one, but other people wouldn¡¯t do that, so I¡¯m saying ¡°three¡± as a compromise.¡±

    The girl nodded. I wasn¡¯t sure if she understood or not, but it wasn¡¯t really important that she did. What was important was that the bus stop was only a block or two away.

    ¡°What about you?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°What number are you?¡±

    I wanted to stop walking, but I forced myself not to. It kept the idea from sticking in my head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure this is something you can really rank yourself for.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Even the bad magicians think they¡¯re doing the right thing,¡± I said, before I had a chance to process the implications.

    She didn¡¯t say anything for a while and neither did I.

    The bus stop was just across the street. Sitting silent in a cone of white light. The safe place where nobody could ever find us and nothing would ever hurt us again.

    No¡ªnot us. Her. Just her.

    Not me.

    I wasn¡¯t so lucky.

    ¡°You¡¯re taking me home, aren¡¯t you?¡± she said. A little more quietly. Maybe she wasn¡¯t so sure, now.

    I knew I had to put that to bed. ¡°I am,¡± I said.

    ¡°So you¡¯re doing a good thing,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ve got that, right?¡±

    I don¡¯t look at her. I can¡¯t.

    ¡°At least I¡¯ve got that,¡± I said.

 37 - Heartless / Mindless / Loveless / Lifeless (3) [July 31st, Age 14]

    We cross the street. The bus stop is right there, exactly as I left it. Somewhere behind the glass enclosure, down a little slope, was a small creek I could use to defend myself if anything happened.

    So I let myself be relieved. I let myself sigh. We were done. It was over now.

    We sat down on the bench under the white light inside the enclosure. I looked over at the big sign with all the arrival times and found that there was a bus coming between now and the 1:12 from Buffalo¡ªa 1:07 to Albany I could take home. A little digital display told me, in blaring red numbers, that it was 1:02.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna get on the 1:07 bus,¡± I said to Bella. ¡°Then it¡¯s just five minutes until your parents get you. Is that okay?¡±

    She made a small affirmatory noise.

    I looked at her again¡ªshe was looking down at the ground, swinging her legs over the edge of the bench just like I was doing an hour before, except she didn¡¯t have to tuck her feet up to have them clear the ground.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing great,¡± I said to her.

    She didn¡¯t reply, so I reached over and took her hand. Said her name and waited for her to look me in the eyes.

    And when she did¡ª

    ¡°We¡¯re almost done,¡± I said to her, forcing the eye contact. ¡°Just ten more minutes.¡±

    She met my eyes for half a second, then turned away again¡ªbut her grip on my hand was more than enough words.

    I turned away, back to watching the street.

    The world came to a halt, and then the world shattered.

    Instinct shut my eyes as glass flew into the air and something heavy slammed into my side, and once I grabbed hold of myself and opened them again, the entire right-side pane of glass in the bus stops¡¯ enclosure was gone and replaced by a pile of scattered sharp snow across the concrete. The thing against my side was warm but I was on my feet and searching for the source of the commotion before I could truly process what it was¡ªwith a dull thwack it slumped and hit the metal bench where I was sitting.

    And then I looked back¡ª

    Sprawled face-down on the metal bench, a steady drip¡ªa pour¡ªof red, a waterfall off the side, clinging to the rusted metal until gravity took it to the earth.

    It was¡ª

    I whipped around, facing the new hole in the enclosure, and I reached out and found the creek off to the side¡ªand the moisture in the air led my mind down a straight shot to a man standing some thirty-five feet away in the shadow of a street sign, holding a gun, pointed in my general direction¡ªtaking aim¡ª

    I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath and grabbed hold of the creek with everything I had, and the water shot out of the sleepy stream it was in and reared up like a sea monster from an ancient myth, and it drew the assailant¡¯s attention for just long enough to make him hesitate on the trigger¡ªand in that split second I froze the tip of the stream I¡¯d grabbed from and shot it straight out, a bullet from the sky pulling the full force of the stream behind it, and it caught the man under his chin and burst his head and chest open like so many watermelons, like so many water balloons, and everything he was was cast across the road and the broad sidewalk and everything from his ribcage down was knocked over like a simple domino and dragged a good ten feet from the impact spot by the sheer force of which I erased him from existence.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    And then I looked back again¡ª

    And I saw the body there, still, the dark red waterfall off the side of the bench as strong as ever, and I wondered if it had always been there¡ªit had been an entire eternity since I¡¯d last sat with her, since I took her hand and said that everything would just alright again as soon as 1:12 rolled around, as soon as the 1:12 bus pulled up with its doors open and its fluorescent lights shining down those steps, those up to heaven. Steps to a place where this would be a past beyond memory.

    But instead¡ª

    I took her shoulder and rolled her over. Heavier than I ever could have imagined.

    And I met her eyes again, one pointed straight up at the ceiling, the other one wilted, not pointing anywhere much at all, since that side of her face crumpled under the impact, peppered with glass shards she¡¯d mostly shielded me from.

    I shook her and said her name.

    I grabbed both her shoulders and with-knuckled fists and shook her and screamed her name¡ª

    0             0             0

    The next thing I remember is being somewhere far from the bus stop, calling every one of my Unit 6 contacts in sequence, in alphabetical order, Ava to Bell to Benji to Cygnus to Prochazka to Yoru and back to the start again until someone picked up.

    I hit a real voice on Yoru.

    ¡°Erika?¡±

    My voice wasn¡¯t my own. It was the voice of someone who clutched the phone with both hands so tightly she thought her thumbs would break the glass, who¡¯d forgotten to hold the phone up to her ear, who was lucky she could remember how to use a phone, let alone speak English to someone through it.

    ¡°I need help. I messed up. I¡ªI need¡ª¡±

    I couldn¡¯t manage more than that. Everything after it was gibberish.

    ¡°Okay. Erika¡ªokay. I¡¯m here. Listen¡ªwhere are you?¡±

    ¡°I need help¡ªI¡ª¡±

    ¡°I got that part. Where are you?¡±

    My location. He wanted my location. I could give that. I knew¡ª

    ¡°Syracuse,¡± I managed.

    ¡°Where in Syracuse?¡±

    I looked up, scanned the surroundings. All the buildings curved inward, glaring down at me through empty windows; the street signs twisted away so I couldn¡¯t use them, the convenience store turned their lights up so bright that I couldn¡¯t read its name. The pavement so black it became an abyss to fall into¡ªthe concrete sidewalk a thin gray skin over a yawning chasm in which I would fall forever.

    My arms shook. It was all I could do not to drop the phone.

    I squinted across the street at one of the businesses with their lights on, but I couldn¡¯t discern any of the products. They shifted rapidly from one thing to the next, shapeless forms that could¡¯ve been anything, but the name was¡ª

    In bright red letters over the windows, the name was¡ª

    The name¡ª

    0             0             0

    The next thing I remember is being in the passenger seat of the old beige sedan, arms locked together, staring down at the dark gray rubber floor mat because it was the least busy thing my eyes could rest on.

    Closing them was so, so much worse.

    ¡°What happened out there?¡± Yoru asked me. It had been around an hour and fifteen minutes since I called him. To date, I¡¯m not sure how I made it that long.

    I don¡¯t know what I did in that hour-fifteen. I don¡¯t know if anyone saw me. I don¡¯t know if anyone called for help. I don¡¯t know if anyone tried to. If anyone did, I don¡¯t know if I let them. I don¡¯t know if I didn¡¯t.

    I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t know.

    I couldn¡¯t even begin to conjure the words to describe what I had just done. Yoru may as well have been asking me to describe the entirety of the universe.

    I just hugged myself a little tighter and kept staring down at the mat. Counting the hexagons to put a voice in my head with a neutral tone.

    ¡°Did you mess up a mission?¡± Yoru asked me.

    Slowly¡ªI nodded.

    He shrugged. ¡°It happens. It sucks, but you can¡¯t win them all. Sometimes you¡¯re just a bit too late, you know? Sometimes the intel is bad. Lots of things can go wrong that aren¡¯t necessarily your fault. And, like, sometimes it is your fault. We¡¯re not all perfect. Ava and I have each others¡¯ backs all the time and sometimes we still fuck it up. None of us have a perfect success rate, not even Bell. Nobody¡¯s expecting you to be perfect, and ninety percent is still an A. Don¡¯t beat yourself up over it too much.¡±

    His voice was a distant fog over the car. No different that the ambient road noise. I processed it the same way¡ªa dull, ungraspable humming with no meaning whatsoever.

    Her eyes¡ª

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Yoru said, holding the wheel with one hand, scratching his cheek with the other. ¡°We all fuck up sometimes.¡±

    If I didn¡¯t get in the glass enclosure¡ª

    ¡°You can¡¯t blame yourself for everything.¡±

    If I didn¡¯t let my guard down¡ª

    He looked over at me. Saw that I wasn¡¯t moving. Saw that I wasn¡¯t listening.

    He knew that the entirety of his vocabulary was falling on deaf ears.

    We arrived back at the dark factory in silence.

 38 - The Black Stone [N/A, N/A]

    All of this is second-hand. I¡¯ve pieced it together as best I can, from half-told stories and underbaked memories. It¡¯s not complete, but it doesn¡¯t have to be.

    It¡¯s just enough.

    0             0             0

    In the house where I was born, there was no love.

    My father brought my squalling self home late on a June night pockmarked by thunderstorms. He did not smile. On June 11<sup>th</sup>, he was given a burden¡ªa curse. He was marked to remember this failure for the rest of his life.

    I did not know my mothers¡¯ name. He wouldn¡¯t speak it in the house. Only as ¡±your mother¡± or ¡°my wife¡±¡ªalways in the present tense, as though he could still sense her standing behind him, craning her neck over his shoulder, watching him manipulate the controls for the big drums of molten steel at the plant. She could see his bite-ridden calloused fingers push the buttons and pull the levers, each finger exactly where it was meant to be. The one thing he knew he could do right. The one thing that made him forget where he was, and what he had to come home to.

    She did not survive. It wasn¡¯t her fault. It wasn¡¯t his fault. It wasn¡¯t anyone¡¯s fault¡ªbut it was mine, it was mine¡ªit was always my fault. We both knew it. If I didn¡¯t exist, she¡¯d still be here. Never mind the fact that they wanted me in the first place.

    It was my fault.

    My father brought me home the night of June 11<sup>th</sup>. The storms were the whims of an angry god to me¡ªthe thunder his screams, the lightning the gnashing of his teeth. My first view of the world was a dark and loud place where the rain never stopped and I was invisible.

    My father said nothing to me on the way home. He drove. I was in the front seat. The carseat they¡¯d kept in the trunk ¡°in the event¡± remained in its box. He did not buckle me in. Hal had a new dream¡ªbut he would never go through with it. He wasn¡¯t brave enough. Only freak chance could vindicate him now.

    It was my fault.

    My mother¡¯s family hated him. Their love was unspeakable. My father¡¯s family didn¡¯t want him marrying a Chinese woman. Their love was forbidden.

    But still¡ª

    They found each other. He was an honest man with an honest job, ever in pursuit of the American dream, and he loved her with a firm hand and a tender mind. She was a graduate student of microbiology, and she dazzled him with the speed at which she could turn any situation into a joke. She was smarter than him, faster than him¡ªhe was the anchor by which she could always hold on to.

    Late that night on June 11<sup>th</sup>, Hal Hanover pulled into the driveway of his condo, brought me inside through the rain, sat me down on the counter, and watched me scream.

    He stared at this thing he now had. All the things they¡¯d bought¡ªthe crib, the blankets, the toys, the clothes, the food¡ªturned to gray rot before his eyes.

    In the room was the television-static of heavy rain, pounding the roof, driving against the windows. The thunder rattled his world. The lights were off. It was dark and in that dark I screamed and screamed against something neither of us could define.

    He stared at me.

    He had nothing to say.

    0             0             0

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Hal never left that night. In his mind it was always June 11<sup>th</sup>, and it was always eleven thirty-five PM, and he was perpetually surrounded by the driving rain and the divine crash of thunder.

    He learned to navigate it. He could turn the lights on in the kitchen to banish the dark. He could play music softly over a radio¡ªhe had one in every room, and one of them was always on, at all hours of the day¡ªeven when he wasn¡¯t there, so he wouldn¡¯t ever have to come home to a silent house. He started talking to the men at the plant more, opening up¡ªthey knew his wife had passed away, and they were accommodating to him, and he went from a cordial stranger to ¡°one of the guys¡±.

    They learned very quickly to not ask about his daughter.

    When Hal took his wife to St. Peter¡¯s Hospital, running red-lights and blasting through stop signs, it was still their plan to hyphenate their names for me. I was an equal part of both of them; so why should I only bear the name of one? That was the plan¡ªHal picked the first name, she the middle, and both would have the last. A true joint effort.

    When Hal held me, the bed his wife was in now empty, the plan fell away. She was gone¡ªbreathed her last in an emergency-room hallway, face drooping, tongue swallowed, arms bent in unnatural ways. Eyes rolled back, drooling. It came too fast, the bleeding too much¡ªfor twelve minutes, she was dead but present; and then she was present but dead. They lived in America; these things were one in a million billion, the odds so small and inconsequential that they had never even occurred to them as they¡¯d raced, sixty-five down route 20¡ªall they had to do was get there, arrive in one piece, and then they¡¯d be with the doctors and they¡¯d know what to do and everything would be okay, and in six hours or so they¡¯d be home again with their greatest creation.

    She was the most graceful person Hal had ever known. She died as though she¡¯d been slammed by a semi-trailer. Bloodied and twisted and curdled.

    Her family would hate him forever. His family would disown him.

    Both of them, somehow, proven right.

    He sat in the ward. He was blinded. He became blind. Deafened by the thunder of the shouting, the blurred blaring of medical instruments. Rendered senseless by the white walls, the sterile posters talking about glove safety, tips for high blood pressure, the instruments in their little glass jars. Banality. Surrounded by the inane. Words became dust in his mouth.

    There was silence in the empty ward. He could not hear the rain from there.

    The doctor had to ask him four times for my name.

    And so I became Erika Hanover.

    He did not give me a middle name.

    Instead, he gave me a void.

    0             0             0

    And so I grew up alone in a house filled with voices, seeing in a house with no color, a warm body in a cold world.

    When the thunderstorms were bad, I could hear him crying in the kitchen.

    And I wish¡ª

    If he¡¯d found someone else, made even the littlest attempt at progressing with his life¡ªmaybe I would¡¯ve been better. Maybe I was cursed from the start, but curses can be lifted. This damage could be undone. Another voice to soften the black stone. I could be freed¡ªbut instead, he did nothing.

    And I wish¡ª

    If he was content to be alone, that he recognized that the only thing remaining of his wife was me. I was born of her. If he didn¡¯t leave me alone as soon as I was old enough to walk and feed myself, maybe those aspects could have been cultivated. He could have found something to love¡ªsomething through which to drive his wife¡¯s legacy¡ªand one day he could show me to both families, now collections of strangers, and say: This is her legacy¡ªthis is what we created. Her name is Erika (blank) Hanover-(blank). She is a unity.

    But instead, I was alone.

    And I wish¡ª

    I wish he told me her name.

    Sometimes I dream of finding them, the family that created my mother¡ªand then I remember how they abandoned me, and I know in my soul that they would never want to see the hateful stone that Hal Hanover created.

    My mother is a blank to me. And she is half of what I became.

    And so I became half-blank. Half-void.

    I am formed, and I can speak, and I can know¡ªbut I am a stone. I was always a stone.

    But I am softening. There is a human in here yet.

    Maybe all of this is worthless complaining. I should be happy Hal obeyed traffic laws on the night of June 11<sup>th</sup>. He was considering not doing so, but he did, and that made all the difference.

    I am softening. I am finding the things in myself I could have known about if I¡¯d been given the means¡ªif I¡¯d been given the help¡ªinstead of being left to my own devices.

    I am almost whole again.

    But deep in my soul is a stone. It dries the rest¡ªit pulls out the moisture, it drains the warmth. I have to fight against it. It wants me to sit in a ball in the corner and never speak. It is overwhelmed by the person I became. It is afraid of who I might become.

    I cannot let it win.

    I am softening. There is a human in here yet.

    Erika Hanover is alive.

 39 - Lunar Caustic (1) [August 11th, Age 14]

    But my eyesight continued to deteriorate.

    I woke up that morning unable to make out a face on the other side of the room even with my contacts in, which was a sign that I needed new ones again. Normally, I would have put in an order for stronger ones already¡ªI was going to Sophia for weekly checkups in an attempt to stay ahead of this thing, but the weekly ones weren¡¯t enough.

    I was considering having her put orders in for me in advance, just assuming my eyes would continue to get worse at a slowly increasing rate.

    That morning, though, I couldn¡¯t see Yoru¡¯s face across the room¡ªjust a red and peach thumb-smear where his head was supposed to be¡ªand my heart fell dead in my chest, a lump of shriveled coal. Curled up like a dead spider.

    I turned to the wall and stared at it. I don¡¯t really know how long I was at that for. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to do anything else.

    Eventually, I heard something knock at the wood of the bunk bed, and I slowly turned to see who it was. Cygnus was there, looking up at me. Thankfully, Cygnus was the easiest one in the unit to recognize, even at a distance, and he was also the one I most wanted to see.

    Cygnus and Bell were the easy ones. Yoru and Ava, from across the foyer, had a tendency to blur together. In sight and mind.

    As far as I was concerned, that day in particular, they were one person.

    Cygnus said to me, unsure: ¡°You¡¯ve been staring at that wall for half an hour. I can assure you it¡¯s not going anywhere.¡±

    I blinked. Could barely fathom the time. Half an hour? What time was it when I started? When did I wake up?

    I couldn¡¯t tell what time it was. The blistering angry red light from the alarm clock was too jumbled to read. The numbers shifted every time I took another look at it.

    ¡°Oh,¡± was all I could say back.

    ¡°Prochazka wants to see you,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t keep him waiting if I were you. It sounded important.¡±

    I found myself sliding out of bed without thinking about it first. Apparently, I was just going to walk over there in my pajamas¡ªand I remember wondering if I¡¯d put my shoes on before I left.

    Cygnus watched me stumble over to my shoes for a minute, leaning down further than usual to make sure I grabbed mine. From behind me he said, ¡°I¡¯ll walk with you,¡± and a wave of relief washed down my back.

    I didn¡¯t even realize I needed that until he said it. That morning, I was only thirty percent of myself¡ªthe other seventy percent just went along, an automaton that responded to only the simplest instructions. Go here. Go there. Stay.

    I tried to look at the time again. The numbers wouldn¡¯t line up.

    And I took a deep breath to quell the panic.

    I told myself not to think about it. I swore to myself I wouldn¡¯t think about it.

    I said to Cygnus, ¡°Okay.¡±

    Cygnus walked over to the pile of shoes and kicked his feet into a pair of flip-flops that may or may not have been his, and then he went over to the door.

    ¡°You gonna go in your pajamas?¡± Cygnus said.

    I shrugged.

    ¡°What if he actually needs you to do something?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll come back and change,¡± I mumbled. My feet moved me past him out the door.

    He was watching me go, standing in the doorway like a sentinel; and then he closed that door behind him gently and followed.

    0 0 0

    I did not feel alive that morning.

    I felt constantly two steps behind myself¡ªfloating outside my body somewhere, watching it go, and having no control whatsoever over what it did.

    And as I approached Prochazka¡¯s office, completely colorless, I had no idea what I was going to do.

    I was not in control. I did not feel alive.

    I opened the door¡ªCygnus said something behind me that I didn¡¯t catch and walked off¡ªand inside was Prochazka behind his desk, and Bell in one of the two chairs, hands clasped behind her neck. She raised one of her hands and waved, and the phantom-me collided with the physical-me at light-speed, and I snapped back to real life.

    Woozy and confused. Overwhelmed by the sudden smell of paper and leather, the whirring of the fans, the pressure from the eyes of Bell and Prochazka, assaulted by the colors from the backs of the books along the left wall and the trinkets on Prochazka¡¯s desk. All of those assailed me at once, and I realized the scope of the sense-void I had somehow climbed out of.

    For thirty-five minutes that morning, I was nothing. I was nobody.

    I did not exist.

    I slowly went over to the open chair and took a seat. Bell turned back around, sat in her chair more or less like a regular person again.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Are you feeling alright?¡± Prochazka asked me.

    I shrugged. Didn¡¯t trust myself with words yet.

    Prochazka regarded my reaction with complete indifference, turned to Bell, and said, ¡°Are you sure about this?¡±

    Bell nodded. ¡°Completely.¡±

    Prochazka glanced at me again, and for a moment I detected a flicker across his face¡ªa slight creasing, maybe of concern? It was too fast for me to identify, and I was still too shaken to process it properly.

    So I left it alone.

    ¡°I was planning to send Bell out to a facility in Utica. Utica theoretically takes care of itself¡ªthere¡¯s a man out there who I trust to keep that city tidy. Very little ever actually goes on there, so they¡¯re more like a rich neighborhood¡¯s police department than anything else. The territory isn¡¯t worth having for either us or the Buffalo gang, so neither of us really bother. Yesterday, I got word from them that they were looking for someone skilled in interrogation to help them out with a prisoner, since they¡¯re not talking and they don¡¯t know where they came from.¡±

    Prochazka shrugged. ¡°Bottom line is, none of that matters, because they¡¯ve never asked me for anything before, and the fact that they¡¯re asking me to send a Unit 6 person means I¡¯m almost certain they¡¯ve been compromised in some way and are hoping I¡¯d send someone alone like an imbecile.¡±

    Bell snorted.

    He went on, leaning back a little bit. ¡°Given the wording of the message, I¡¯m pretty sure they were hoping I¡¯d send Yoru or Ava, who aren¡¯t nearly as strong as either of you, so they could snap one of them off, weaken the other by proxy, and then start to move in on us while we¡¯re staggering.¡±

    I figured now was a good time to try some nice, benign words. I chose them carefully, letting them take full shape in my head before I let them go. ¡°What do you want us to do?¡±

    Prochazka folded his arms behind his head. Shrugged a bit. ¡°Basically, I want you two to nuke them from orbit.¡±

    Bell nodded. ¡°Not my usual fare, but sure, I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°The reason I¡¯m asking you and not Cygnus,¡± Prochazka said to Bell, ¡°is that I want you to nuke them from orbit in a way that makes them never want to speak to us again. In all likelihood, everyone from the Utica outpost is dead or compromised in some way. I have no interest in appearing soft to aggressors. You are to keep up the pretense of an interrogation until they drop it. I trust the two of you not to get caught off guard.¡±

    At the sound of the word my heart dissolved. Prochazka trusted me; he trusted me for this, which was ostensibly very important, despite my failings. Despite everything.

    He didn¡¯t know where I¡¯d just been. Didn¡¯t know I could barely speak.

    Unless¡ª

    Unless he wanted me to harness all of that, somehow.

    I swallowed.

    Bell said, ¡°So we interrogate the prisoner, and then what?¡±

    ¡°Well, if they just let you interrogate the prisoner and leave, then do that. I admit, I could be wrong.¡± Prochazka reached out to the little quartz hawk on his desk, and I blushed thinking about it. He picked it up between two fingers, admiring it for a moment, one hand still behind his head.

    ¡°I could be wrong,¡± he said again, more slowly this time, ¡°but I¡¯m not.¡±

    ¡°I want to be crystal-clear on this,¡± Bell said. ¡°This is a blank check.¡±

    Prochazka nodded. ¡°This is a blank check.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going in at night,¡± Bell said, wringing her hands.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the facility?¡±

    ¡°In the middle of some farmland,¡± he said. ¡°It looks like a factory farm at first glance. One of those big buildings. It¡¯s like this place.¡±

    ¡°So nobody will see us.¡±

    ¡°As long as nobody sees you come or go.¡±

    Bell smiled.

    I watched her smile, and I felt something unhinge in the room.

    I became aware of the presence of a terrible thing.

    That said, I couldn¡¯t figure out what the terrible thing was. It made all the bones in my spine rattle, it made my blood flow backward. It made me cold.

    Was it Bell, or was it me?

    Because I realized I was excited about this too.

    Bell said to Prochazka, ¡°That can be arranged.¡±

    And then she turned to me.

    0 0 0

    Bell got the keys to the Unit 6 car from Benji and jangled them as she walked. I didn¡¯t even know she could drive.

    Another entry for the endless list.

    ¡°We¡¯ve never been on a mission together, have we?¡± I asked her.

    I was already feeling better. The color had come back to my face, and walking felt like a natural movement again instead of an alien puppeteers¡¯ idea of a cruel joke. My breathing came normally, and the standard lightly-musty smell of the factory was present but not too strong, and the few colors present in the walls of the factory stayed in their respective locations, not screaming at me, and I could form sentences and speak about as well as I usually could.

    My eyesight was better than it was that morning, too. Maybe it was just a one-time thing.

    I felt normal again, or as normal as I ever felt.

    Minus the excitement I had for the opportunity to truly cut loose, which both buzzed in my head like an upcoming birthday and sat hard and black in my stomach like an upcoming funeral.

    But I was okay. Everything was okay.

    I was with Bell and it was all going to be okay.

    Bell said, ¡°I don¡¯t remember the last time I was on a mission with anybody. That¡¯s why I asked Prochazka if you could come with me.¡±

    I was requested. A bit of warmth dripped down into my chest.

    Wanted.

    We got into the car and set off on the roughly forty-five minute drive to Utica. Prochazka had been stretching the truth a little. The place we were headed was so on the outskirts of that city¡ªand I say ¡°city¡± with heavy quotation marks¡ªthat it barely qualified as a part of any place. Utica was just the closest named location it could cling to, so a part of Utica it became.

    Bell, to my surprise, was an extremely careful driver. She took the speed limit as a hard law, not a suggested minimum like Yoru often did. She broke cleanly and early for every traffic light, and never got too close behind anyone. I asked her why, since it seemed so against what I knew, and she replied, ¡°The most embarrassing way I can think of dying is in a car accident.¡±

    And I remembered Prochazka¡¯s story about Senator Cunningham¡¯s daughter, who disappeared in a car wreck. That mythical, elusive human whose name was apparently Campbell.

    I remembered that and filed it away.

    We drove for a while down stock-straight farm roads for a few minutes, my eyes locked on the rising moon over the horizon. Farms always made me feel lost; like I was teetering on the edge of civilization. It was tough for me to imagine the progression of city to suburb to rural farmland to uninhabited forest as anything but completely linear¡ªno other suburbs to break it up, no little downtowns dotting the squared-up land. Once you hit that line of trees, that was it. There was nothing else.

    The forest beyond stretched forever and ever.

    It was about half an hour past sundown when the big factory rose up in the distance; about a mile later Bell eased the car off the side of the road and turned it off.

    We sat in the car in silence for a second, taking stock of the area.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the plan,¡± Bell said. ¡°We¡¯re going to go in there. We¡¯re going to follow their lead until they give us a reason not to. It¡¯s not going to be an obvious line. There¡¯s going to have to be a judgment call.¡±

    Bell turned to me. Her eyes were swollen black.

    She said, ¡°Do you trust me?

    And I felt her power.

    I wanted her to feel mine.

    I said, ¡°I trust you.¡±

    And to match her display, I cast the moist ambient discharge from the air conditioning up into the air, fogging all the windows with intricate spirals of condensation.

    Bell smiled at me.

    She said, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

 40 - Lunar Caustic (2) [August 11th, Age 14]

    We took the road up to the factory in silence. We had no plans for secrecy¡ªBell was going to knock on the front door, and whoever answered it was going to take us to the leader of that facility, and then we¡¯d move from there.

    I had absolute faith in us. Nothing could possibly go wrong. To even think of something not going exactly the way we wanted was blasphemy. Between the two of us, we had enough power to take the whole facility head-on.

    We were invincible.

    Bell had left the car about half a mile away from the factory, and we made that walk in silence. I spent a good portion of it looking up at the stars. It was sort of odd to say that I didn¡¯t get to see the stars very often, despite the fact that I lived in a fairly rural area, but being indoors almost all the time in a windowless room will do that.

    There were just so many of them, and they¡¯d always be there, no matter what.

    We walked right up to the front door. They were expecting us. There was no need for secrecy.

    There was a little box with a button on it, hastily wired to some unknown system inside the building. Bell pushed it, and I heard the faint echo of the doorbell through the wooden strut-crossed door they¡¯d harvested from some old farmhouse to use as an entrance.

    I never thought much of design when it came to hideouts like that, but I guess it was nice to know that somebody did.

    After a minute¡ªand some eager shifting from Bell, who was grappling with whether or not she should push the button again¡ªthe door opened a crack.

    ¡°Who are you people?¡± the voice in the dark said. If I had to guess I¡¯d say there was just a hallway back there that they¡¯d shut the lights off in to give an illusion of secrecy, but the ambient moonlight¡ªand distant external floodlights¡ªcast just enough glow through the doorway to let me see that our greeter had a silver key around his neck, inlaid with a square crystal I assumed was bismuth.

    Earth keys seemed to be pretty common around these parts.

    Bell paused for half a second.

    ¡°My name is Ophelia,¡± Bell said. ¡°Prochazka sent me.¡±

    ¡°Nobody named Ophelia works for Prochazka,¡± the man said. ¡°You¡¯re not on the list. Who¡¯s that?¡±

    He pointed at me, careful to keep his finger indoors.

    ¡°That¡¯s Erika,¡± Bell said.

    ¡°Hanover?¡±

    ¡°The one and only.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re probably Bell, then,¡± the man said.

    She blinked. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°We literally have a list of Unit 6 people,¡± he said. ¡°I have it right here.¡±

    He fluttered a sheet of standard A4 paper in the doorway. ¡°Why did you even bother trying to give me a fake name?¡±

    Bell took it in stride, to her credit. ¡°Force of habit. You have a prisoner?¡±

    ¡°Why is Erika here?¡± he asked.

    Bell shrugged. ¡°Better safe than sorry, hmm? I like having a bodyguard on missions like this.¡±

    She punctuated it with a smile.

    The man grimaced. ¡°Well, normally I¡¯d call in reinforcements right now, but since Erika¡¯s here, it¡¯s pretty safe to assume you are who you say you are. Unless you¡¯re some comically powerful telepath who¡¯s enslaved Erika and somehow stolen her out of the Radiant¡¯s compound without us hearing about it, in which case I¡¯d be both, a, dead already and, b, very impressed.¡±

    He opened the door wider, wide enough to cast light on him, revealing a small, thin wire of a man with long dark hair who I totally would¡¯ve mistaken for a woman if I didn¡¯t hear his voice before seeing him. He was the sort of person who looked perpetually unamused, despite his jovial tone. But he had a cool lizard tattooed on his upper left arm, so I decided I was going to try and like him.

    He extended a hand to Bell. ¡°Randall,¡± he said. ¡°I go by Randy.¡±

    Bell took his hand, shook it once. Said, ¡°Bell.¡±

    Randy¡¯s smile took on an odd frozen quality, and he hesitated a bit too long before extending a hand in my direction. I knew the reaction well enough, and my patience for it had long since withered away.

    I quickly revised my decision to be friendly.

    Just before I took his hand, I froze the ambient moisture on my hand, just to watch him wince from the sudden cold as soon as our palms touched.

    I had no plans to be doubted.

    ¡°Erika,¡± I said.

    Randy withdrew his hand from me faster than he did from Bell. He turned behind him, shouted back, ¡°Dave, hit the lights!¡±, and gestured for us to come inside.

    The lights buzzed to life, flooding the hallway white¡ªI winced for half a second, and took a quick glance at Bell, who was unfazed.

    Randy started off down the hall, with the implication that we were following¡ªBell waited for half a second before doing so, and I waited another half second beyond that to tail them.

    ¡°The prisoner,¡± Bell said. No interest in waiting around, or taking in the scenery¡ªnot that there was all that much to take in. We were in a white-walled hall, stained by dirt and time, and at the end of the hall was a pair of doors that presumably led to what would¡¯ve been the main floor, and off to each side were other, lightly-rusted white-painted metal doors that led to some other portion of the building I couldn¡¯t quite imagine.

    And above us, the cold floodlights.

    ¡°Right,¡± Randy replied. ¡°We scooped him up creeping around the building, ah¡­what time is it right now?¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Ten o¡¯clock,¡± Bell said, toneless.

    ¡°So, thirty-seven hours ago,¡± Randy finished.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just say yesterday morning?¡±

    The question made Randy¡¯s brain short-circuit for a second; he spluttered for just a bit too long before responding, ¡°I don¡¯t know. Why does that matter?¡±

    Bell shrugged, said nothing.

    He frowned and kept on. ¡°Basically, he was hiding in the bushes out front. Really, just¡ªhiding in the bushes, like we don¡¯t have cameras around the whole damn building or something. We sent a guy out there to tap him on the shoulder and say, ¡°Look, you¡¯re coming in with us,¡± and he came quietly. Since then he hasn¡¯t talked, but we honestly haven¡¯t tried all that much. The fact that he was so poorly hidden gave us all the willies.¡±

    Hearing a grown man say ¡°gave us the willies¡± must have tripped some kind of condition in my head, because I started giggling uncontrollably and could not stop for the life of me.

    Randy shot me an oddly concerned look, and it was only after letting that lightly disdainful stare burn into my skull for a few moments that I could calm down again.

    Bell ignored it.

    We all stopped in front of the doors at the end of the hall¡ªbig frosted-glass-set doors that were hooked up to a button that opened them automatically in the event of something large needing to come in or out.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± he said, drawing out the first syllable, ¡°We assumed this was some kind of a bait to divert our attention. We¡¯re pretty short-staffed out here, so having a prisoner keeps a bunch of heads occupied.¡±

    ¡°How short is short-staffed?¡± Bell asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s fifteen of us in the whole building,¡± Randy said.

    ¡°Only fifteen,¡± Bell echoed. ¡°Huh.¡±

    ¡°Like I said,¡± he went on, ¡°Short-staffed. So we were all on edge that some huge army was gonna storm the place and bowl us over. But that hasn¡¯t happened yet, so¡­half the reason we phoned Jan in the first place was because we¡¯d, ah, also like to have some backup in case they decide to invade tonight, since they didn¡¯t last night, and maybe they¡¯d think we¡¯d let our guard down after twenty-four hours.¡±

    Bell shrugged. ¡°That sounds reasonable to me.¡±

    ¡°Prisoner¡¯s downstairs,¡± Randy said. ¡°Through here and off to the left. I¡¯ll walk you there.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, but I think we can find our own way if that¡¯s all there is.¡± Bell had kept all her responses terse and dry. I could only begin to imagine what conclusions she was already drawing about the place.

    What I would¡¯ve given to be a telepath!

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s a bit more complicated than that,¡± Randy said. ¡°You¡¯ll need a code to get in the door to the stairs.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    Randy snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not going to tell you the code. That would be hilariously insecure.¡±

    Bell took a second too long to respond. She was deciding something, but I couldn¡¯t figure out what it was. In the end, she just shrugged and said, ¡°Whatever.¡±

    Randy pursed his lips for a second. ¡°Look, Bell, I get that you¡¯re numero uno over at the Radiant, but I¡¯d appreciate it if you could at least pretend to respect what we do here. Okay?¡±

    ¡°What exactly is it that you do here?¡± Bell said. ¡°Prochazka never explained it to me, and I haven¡¯t figured it out yet.¡±

    ¡°Pretty much exactly what you guys do, but for lower-profile cases around here. We¡¯ve got a lot of petty magical crime out here and it tends to be really easy to find.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°So we don¡¯t have any big guns, so to speak,¡± Randy said. ¡°Our strongest key is Wyatt, and he¡¯s stuck here running the place most of the time. If we got invaded, we¡¯d probably all just die.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the police in a rich town, basically,¡± Bell said. ¡°Remind me again what you¡¯ve done to earn our respect?¡±

    Randy, at some point during Bell¡¯s response, made the decision to just let all of Bell¡¯s slights roll off him. I figured that was probably a good plan.

    ¡°Let¡¯s head inside,¡± Randy said, smacking the button to the right of the door with his open palm.

    The doors swung inward¡ªthey appeared to be able to go both inward and outward depending on which side they were opened from, which was a cool piece of tech, I guess¡ªand Randy immediately banked a left toward a small door in the corner of the floor.

    The floor itself was a vast open space filled with basically nothing at all. There were a couple of lone cubicle walls standing on an enormous concrete floor like boulders in a desert¡ªdistantly I could hear a few voices and the light clicking of someone typing.

    It was so much space for so little anything.

    I gawked at it for a bit before I realized I couldn¡¯t really see anything on the furthest wall. There was a sign there, with some text on it, big red block letters that blurred together into a red-streaked smear.

    My heart shriveled up and I looked away.

    Randy brought us to a door on the left-hand wall, about halfway down the room. He poked in the code on a keypad mounted next to it, using his free hand to obscure what he was doing from the strongest flesh-key in the world.

    I wondered if Bell had x-ray vision like that. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me.

    The lock behind the door clicked open. Randy said, ¡°We don¡¯t have real jail cells, so we just locked the guy in a storage area in the basement. It¡¯s a pretty big space, but there¡¯s nothing in it but dust, and he¡¯s not an earth-key so I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve got anything to worry about.¡±

    ¡°Duly noted,¡± Bell said. ¡°We can take this from here. Is there only one storage room?¡±

    ¡°No, but it¡¯s also locked,¡± he said, fishing a key out of his pocket. ¡°Here. First door on the right.¡±

    Bell took it without a word, then gestured to me, and I followed her down, shooting Randy a quick look that I figured passed for apologetic. He was a little mean to me earlier, but a lot of people were like that, and I knew I certainly didn¡¯t want to be on the receiving end of Bell¡¯s sass.

    Randy looked back at me and shrugged.

    0             0             0

    We closed the door behind us and started down the steps, walking slowly, eyes focused on the landing.

    The unearthly silence, Bell¡¯s demeanor, and the low light of that basement had me dead-to-rights locked and convinced we were about to be ambushed. I was so prepared for it that I¡¯d drawn a bit of water out of the bottle I held and sharpened it into a dart, just in case.

    But when we got to the bottom, nobody was there.

    Bell said nothing; she walked all the way to the end of the hall and stopped. There were ten storage chambers in total, but we only had a key for the first one on the right labeled ¡°2¡±. The key itself had a matching number on it, so it wasn¡¯t possible to mess that up somehow.

    Standing in front of rusted metal door #10, a good thirty or forty feet down the hall from the room we had a key for, Bell said, ¡°This is a bit more complicated than I thought it would be.¡±

    ¡°Randy seems okay,¡± I said.

    ¡°At first, I thought he was compromised by a telepath,¡± Bell said, ¡°And I got concerned, because that would¡¯ve made bringing you along an extremely bad idea. But then he talked some more, and I realized that I was right¡ªhe was compromised¡ªbut his reactions to me were very natural.¡±

    I was a bit lost. ¡°So¡­¡±

    ¡°We missed it,¡± Bell said. ¡°We¡¯re too late.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°Loybol beat us here,¡± she replied. ¡°Everyone in this facility is dead.¡±

    My reaction to that was limited to a confused ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°At least,¡± Bell said slowly, ¡°I think so. But that wouldn¡¯t explain why we were called here. They want us to do something, which means¡­¡±

    She frowned, resting her chin in her palm and holding her elbow with her free hand. ¡°The prisoner is way more powerful than we thought.¡±

    Bell looked down at the floor for a moment, deep in thought. I made a point of not disturbing her with anything like questions or requests for explanations.

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t add up,¡± she said, after a moment.

    ¡°Nothing does,¡± I agreed.

    ¡°So¡ªthis guy¡¯s been here since yesterday morning. Nobody¡¯s gotten anything out of him. We got the call to come help¡­this morning. I don¡¯t believe for a second that everyone¡¯s just sat around and done nothing for forty hours.

    Bell grimaced. ¡°I think the call was genuine. They honestly did want help with the prisoner. And then Loybol¡¯s team got here before we did. Or the call was fabricated by Loybol to get us here for something. Or the prisoner is one of Loybol¡¯s people, and then a powerful telepath arrived and took control of a couple key people here, and this was the trap we thought it was, and we should still nuke them from orbit.¡±

    She took a breath.

    ¡°We need to see Wyatt,¡± she said.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I need to see what kind of compromised he is,¡± she said, ¡°before I figure out what to do.¡±

    She walked past me back toward the steps.

    ¡°Should we split up?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Why?¡± Bell turned her head back to me.

    ¡°I could talk to the prisoner,¡± I said.

    Bell snorted. ¡°Not a chance. We¡¯re sticking together.¡±

    She went up the steps, and all I could really do was follow.

 41 - Lunar Caustic (3) [August 11th, Age 14]

    She emerged from the door at the top of the steps¡ªthankfully not locked¡ªand found Randy standing there with his phone out, scrolling through something or other.

    Bell made sure to slam the door harder than normal to get his attention. He popped awake, jammed his phone away and said, ¡°That was quick.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t talk to him yet. I want to see Wyatt.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Available,¡± Bell said.

    Her eyes swelled black.

    ¡°Listen. I am not here to fuck around. This is bigger than you. You will take us to Wyatt, or I will take your head from your shoulders and find someone more accommodating.¡±

    He swallowed. ¡°Uh¡ªright. He¡¯s¡­he should be upstairs. That¡¯s where I last saw him, anyway.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know where he is?¡±

    ¡°He went into his office with someone I didn¡¯t recognize. He told me to let her in and I just did it. He hasn¡¯t come out since then. And that was¡­oh, God, six hours ago? Seven?¡±

    ¡°What did she look like?¡±

    Randy blinked, ghostly pale. ¡°Um¡ªGod, she¡­mid-height, brown hair a little past her shoulders? Kind of¡ªum¡ªsmall head? Expensive looking jacket.¡±

    ¡°Did she have a key?¡±

    Randy sucked in a deep breath, calmed himself down.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe it was in her pocket or something.¡±

    Bell stepped closer to Randy, looked down at him. Somehow, in the last few minutes, she¡¯d made herself grow a few inches without anyone noticing. Randy wasn¡¯t all that tall, but Bell was close to six foot four, and she towered over him.

    ¡°Take me there.¡±

    Randy nodded, fast. ¡°Yep. Sure. We¡¯ll¡ªuh, we¡¯ll do that.¡±

    He set off toward the back wall, at a quick clip. Bell kept up with him easily, because she was a monster, and I had to jog a little to keep up.

    We got to the steps, and Randy opened his mouth again, starting into some idle nervous chatter. ¡°Who was that?¡± he asked. ¡°I mean, I just sort of assumed she was¡ª¡±

    ¡°Walk,¡± Bell growled.

    Randy gulped so loudly I could hear it.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said.

    He screwed up the code for the door twice, and each time he reentered it with a shakier hand.

    ¡°Upstairs,¡± he said. ¡°Just a bit.¡±

    He took them two at a time, as though he could outrun the six-foot-six monstrosity that easily took them the same way to keep up.

    At the second floor, he twisted the handle and wrenched open the door, and took us down a few doors to one marked ¡°Suite 208.¡±

    ¡°This is¡ªthis is where Wyatt works,¡± he said.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bell replied.

    She pointed at me, and then a bit down the hall. I got the drift and took a few steps further down.

    Then she whipped around, palmed Randy¡¯s skull with an immense hand, and with a single jerk of her palm, both of his eyes burst out of his skull in a torrent of blood, gushing from his nose and out of the corner of his mouth in a single cough so body wracking it expelled his soul.

    He dropped to the floor in a puddle.

    Then Bell turned to me, crouched low so she was at eye level, and she said to me, ¡°Erika. Listen. If you feel anything strange¡ªanything that doesn¡¯t seem right at all¡ªyou tell me immediately. You understand?¡±

    I nodded. Electric tension in the hall making my head bob up and down far too many times. Like an invalid.

    ¡°Good,¡± Bell said. ¡°If this is who I think it is, you¡¯re about to meet someone.¡±

    Then she turned and opened the door to Wyatt¡¯s office.

    Inside was a beige-painted metal and fake wood desk, an old laptop shut on top of it, and a man slumped over in a blue-fabric office chair. From the corner of his mouth drooled something black and stretchy, and it looked like it was dripping from the inner corner of his right eye, too.

    ¡°He¡¯s not going to make it, I¡¯m afraid,¡± a voice said.

    Bell turned, and in the left corner of the wall we came through was a woman sitting in a black-frame chair. She was the woman Randy had described¡ªshort-ish brown hair, expensive looking jacket. Otherwise nondescript physically. Didn¡¯t look all that tall. Normal-sized head, despite what Randy had said.

    But I could not look away from her. Something about her¡ªmaybe her perfect posture, the stillness in her arms and her cold expression; maybe the culmination of all those things¡ªmade me freeze.

    There was no sound in the room when I saw her. No gentle breeze, the barest sensation of life in the air from the AC. It was still. The world was dead.

    There was only the three of us, and I could not look away.

    I had never seen anyone who could take control of a room¡¯s attention away from Bell simply by existing¡ªbut something about the woman there unnerved me. It made my skin shake. Where she was, there was a vortex, a black hole sucking all the warmth and light from the office¡ªall into some still human figure who knew exactly what her effect was on someone.

    Something was wrong.

    She looked mid-twenties, which meant she¡¯d had her key for a while. At the same time, though, her face was creased in such a way, and there was a heaviness in her eyes, that made her look like she was much older, and simply well-preserved.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    It reminded me of Bell a bit, but less outwardly, intentionally creepy.

    She regarded Bell with no expression whatsoever. Said, ¡°Hello, Bell.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Loybol,¡± Bell replied.

    I went pale. It was her, in the flesh, or¡­whatever unearthly substance it was her body was made out of, if not flesh. If it was just some good simulacra. Some model of a human body that was ninety-five-percent right.

    ¡°This is Erika,¡± Bell said, gesturing at me. I waved, meek, and immediately flushed red and stared at the floor.

    ¡°I assumed so,¡± Loybol replied. ¡°Bringing her was probably not a great plan.¡±

    ¡°When the plan was to nuke this building from orbit, it was fine,¡± Bell said back. ¡°Now, though, I¡¯m inclined to agree with you.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s Jan doing?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s fine. Same old.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± she said.

    We all watched the apparent corpse of Wyatt drool for a while. I found the courage to speak. ¡°Is he dead?¡±

    Loybol shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m giving him another minute before I make that call, but it¡¯s fairly rare for anyone to push through at this point. It was worth a shot, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°What¡­what is that?¡± I asked, staring at the slowly dripping black liquid. Wyatt being dead or almost dead had no meaning to me; it was only the method I cared about.

    Loybol stood. My earlier guess about her height was correct¡ªbut somehow, that made me feel worse. At least if she was freakishly tall like Bell I could be afraid of something I could properly quantify.

    Nobody would believe me about her aura or something silly like that.

    She walked over to Wyatt with slow, purposeful steps, and placed two fingers on his forehead¡ªas soon as she did so, the little stalactite of drool hanging from Wyatt¡¯s lips curved upward, magnetized to Loybol¡¯s touch, and wormed its way up across his face to her fingernails.

    From every orifice on Wyatt¡¯s head, some amount of that black liquid emerged, flowing lazily, against gravity, to the contact point. After a few moments, it was done¡ªand all the liquid had been drawn out of him, into her fingernails, and¡ªapparently¡ªinto the void, never to be seen again.

    ¡°I¡¯ve theorized that this could exist for a while,¡± Bell said, once Loybol was done. ¡°But I couldn¡¯t ever run an experiment to try it without a telepath to work with.¡±

    Bell looked over at me. ¡°It¡¯s a hive-mind of micro-organisms, I think. One of the only real ¡°collaboration projects¡± we know of between two different keys that really matters. At some point a long time ago, a reasonably powerful telepath and a reasonably powerful garnet got together, and I¡¯d assume one of them had an education in microbiology or something, and they created these things. They can mimic all of a body¡¯s functions, at the cost of¡ªliterally¡ªreplacing your entire body minus bones and skin with themselves. The hive-mind can overpower weaker minds, and it allows the host mind¡ªin this case, Loybol¡ªto access¡­some amount of the victim¡¯s mind, I think.¡±

    Loybol shrugged, didn¡¯t say anything.

    ¡°The main reason you¡¯d risk dying to these things upon infection is that it gives you¡ªat least, as I¡¯ve thought of it¡ªimmunity to telepaths, since there¡¯s no real single mind-source to target, and it buys you a lot of time against garnets, because there¡¯s a lot of bodies to chew through. Also, you¡¯re probably properly immortal, right?¡±

    Loybol returned to her chair. ¡°You¡¯ve given this a lot of thought, I see.¡±

    ¡°If we had any telepaths in upstate, I¡¯d probably have done this by now,¡± Bell replied, gesturing to Wyatt. ¡°Seems like an upgrade, anyway.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a side-grade,¡± Loybol said. ¡°With some ups and some downs. My life expectancy is longer than a regular key, but not by a ton, I think.¡± She scratched the back of her neck. ¡°Maybe two-fifty, before they eat my skin.¡±

    Bell grinned. It was all she could do to not start jumping. This was the closest I¡¯d ever her to being truly happy¡ªfor a moment there, she looked like a schoolgirl. Except six feet tall and gaunt and dead-looking.

    ¡°How did you do it?¡± Bell asked. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re not a flesh-key or a telepath, right?¡±

    ¡°I got lucky,¡± she replied. ¡°The main concern with these things is that you try to bite off more than you can chew, and you attack someone who has better defenses against telepaths than you do. It could re-assign the host mind to them, and then you turn into a slave.¡±

    Bell nodded, quickly. ¡°That makes sense. Can I¡ªcan I take some, have a look?¡±

    Loybol went to flex her knuckles¡ªI expected to hear them crack, but nothing happened.

    ¡°No,¡± Loybol said, and that was the end of that.

    Bell didn¡¯t react to it, but I knew she was at least a little disappointed. Moving on, she said, ¡°There must have been something big going on here if you came in person.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, crossing her legs. ¡°Well, maybe, maybe not. It depends. But I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not glad to have backup.¡±

    She looked at Bell when she said that, which made me feel rather small.

    ¡°The prisoner is a telepath,¡± Loybol said. ¡°You made the right call, Bell. I¡¯m fairly certain everyone in this facility was compromised when I arrived. I¡¯m willing to bet that soon enough, someone else from the prisoner¡¯s organization will come by¡ªand by ¡°come by¡± I mean stand close enough to the door to let the telepath implant whatever that organization needs to know directly into the outside person¡¯s head.¡±

    ¡°So we kill the telepath,¡± Bell said. ¡°Which you can do easily, right?¡±

    Loybol nodded. ¡°That doesn¡¯t get us anywhere. You don¡¯t put a band-aid on a plague sore.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m going to get to do my job after all,¡± Bell said.

    ¡°How good are you against telepaths?¡±

    ¡°Very,¡± Bell said.

    ¡°And Erika is¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not.¡±

    Loybol nodded, slowly. ¡°Figured.¡±

    I turned red. Was there literally nothing useful I could do here? I was alone with the strongest garnet and one of the most powerful people in the country¡ªand yet I was a sack of potatoes. Dead weight. Worse than useless¡ªa liability.

    ¡°I can just¡­leave,¡± I said, slowly.

    ¡°No, you can¡¯t,¡± Loybol said. ¡°Because then we¡¯d all have to leave.¡±

    ¡°You could just walk me to the car. I¡¯d¡ªum¡ªI¡¯d be out of range then, right?¡±

    A dead-weight.

    ¡°Then we¡¯d be leaving the prisoner unattended. How far away did you park? Half a mile?¡±

    Bell nodded.

    ¡°That¡¯d be, what, ten minutes?¡±

    ¡°Seven-and-a-half,¡± I said. Desperation creeping in. ¡°I was quick in school.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°Still not fast enough.¡±

    A sack of potatoes.

    Loybol grimaced. ¡°I don¡¯t want to just chop this off and be done with it.¡±

    ¡°You think it¡¯s the city?¡± Bell asked.

    Loybol did not look at either of us, but she nodded all the same.

    A victim.

    ¡°This might be the first attack,¡± she said. ¡°A warning shot to scare us. We need to show that we are not afraid.¡±

    And I felt the power in her voice. The assertion. What she said was objective truth. It could not possibly be denied.

    We were not afraid.

    I was, but I was not. If I was, it would contradict Loybol, and that was impossible.

    So I was not afraid.

    I forced myself to feel nothing. I hyper-focused on every syllable from their mouths, and the ichor-slick of fear coating the back of my mind slowly began to melt away.

    ¡°Do they know you¡¯re here?¡± Bell asked.

    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t, thanks to you.¡±

    Bell let herself crack a smile. ¡°You want to send a message.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°I think we can make that happen.¡± Bell relaxed; she returned to her more-or-less regular height of six-foot-two, eyes back to fish-corpse gray. The Bell I knew.

    Seeing her look regular again made me feel regular again.

    ¡°You have a plan?¡±

    ¡°The makings of one.¡±

    ¡°Go.¡±

    ¡°You go downstairs. Assimilate the telepath. I¡¯ll stay with Erika and make sure they don¡¯t do anything last-minute. Once you¡¯re sure the telepath is down, we¡¯ll go down there and extract whatever we want out of them.¡±

    Loybol was into that. ¡°And then we¡¯ll send Erika outside to greet the welcome party while we sift through the findings.¡±

    Warmth crashed over me. God¡ªI wasn¡¯t going to be useless. Thank God, thank God.

    I took a breath and let it out slow. Neither of them reacted to it, although I¡¯m sure they both noticed, as they were surely omnipotent, and I was but a simple human in a world ruled by gods.

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    ¡°What if the welcome party has another telepath?¡±

    ¡°I doubt it,¡± Bell said. ¡°NYC is operating under the idea that I¡¯m here alone. They don¡¯t know you¡¯re here, and they don¡¯t know I brought Erika with me. Given that I¡¯m pretty well-known to be hard to rattle among those that do know of me, I would be very surprised if they¡¯d risk another one of their most valuable wartime keys when they know it won¡¯t be all that effective. The welcome party, assuming it contains reinforcements, will likely be all elemental keys. Erika can go hide in the cornfields and as soon as they arrive, they¡¯ll be in for a very unpleasant surprise.¡±

    ¡°And the prisoner?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill them afterward,¡± Bell said. ¡°Let them find what¡¯s left. Write a message in their blood on the walls.¡±

    Loybol shook her head. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°That seems like a waste of a perfectly-good disposable spy.¡±

    Bell broke into a smile. A real one, or as close to a real one as they ever get.

    ¡°You know¡ªI like the way you think,¡± she said.

    ¡°Likewise,¡± Loybol replied.

    ¡°Sounds like a plan, then?¡±

    ¡°It does.¡±

    Loybol stood.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

 42 - Lunar Caustic (4) [August 11th, Age 14]

    It was only after meeting Loybol that day that it began to bother me that Prochazka never did anything on his own. Maybe he considered himself too old for that kind of work¡ªbut all the stories I¡¯d heard suggested that he loved that stuff; he loved the risk and rush, he loved the quiet creeping and the bursts of life-or-death action. All the stories made me believe that he didn¡¯t find life complete without it.

    Why else would he have gone back to war so many times¡ªover and over again, for armies that disrespected him?

    But Loybol was different. She had more agents than us by far. A literal army of slaves, a unit comprised solely of telepaths. Our entire facility numbered about eighty¡ªshe had ten times that working for her. And yet, here she was¡ªthe real Loybol, in the flesh. The one herself, doing her own work. Not a helper¡ªLoybol. Not an assistant. Not a prized agent.

    I wished Prochazka would do that for us. Age wasn¡¯t an excuse for keys. He was over a hundred, or at least right around it, but he didn¡¯t look a day over thirty-five, and even that was abnormally old-looking for a key-user. Maybe Loybol was significantly younger. I didn¡¯t know. There was no way to tell, and I assumed that after a certain time, age stopped mattering for keys. Once you¡¯ve hit the point where you don¡¯t age anymore, does it matter at all that one key is fifty years older than another if you both look twenty-seven?

    And, either way, she didn¡¯t exactly seem chipper.

    I spent longer thinking about that than I¡¯m fully willing to admit. It occupied my thoughts all the way back down to the prisoner¡¯s cell and then some.

    Bell had the foresight to memorize the code for the basement when Randy plugged it in. In hindsight, it was so glaringly obvious that I should have done that too that it stung a little. Despite how far I¡¯d come, I still had so far to go.

    We came up to the door, which was locked by another code. None of us had it.

    Bell looked at me. Loybol simply stretched her hand down, and a chunk of concrete roughly the size of her head leapt up into her hand.

    ¡°Cover your ears,¡± she said.

    We did.

    Loybol took the chunk, swung her arm back, and threw it so hard that it knocked the door clean off its hinges with a scream of tortured metal that no amount of ear-blocking could really save us from.

    I guess that answered the question of what her key was.

    In the room was an extremely startled man, no key around his neck, who was bound to a chair and gagged. I didn¡¯t get much of a chance to look at him, though, and even if I did, I knew that the man didn¡¯t matter.

    Loybol wasted no time in walking right up to the man, black liquid dripping from her fingertips.

    I could do nothing but watch. She was some kind of alien, certainly. No human could withstand an infection from those. No human could do what she was doing.

    And yet¡ªthere she was.

    I was in awe, or I was terrified, or I was both. I couldn¡¯t sort feeling from desire. I couldn¡¯t tell if I wanted to be Loybol, or if I wanted to be with Loybol. Maybe she was stronger than Prochazka. She certainly seemed invincible enough.

    One thing I can say for myself: since coming to the Radiant, I had never lacked for prospective role models.

    I didn¡¯t get the sense from Loybol that she enjoyed this, like I did from Bell. Loybol did not smile when she moved towards that man. He knew what was coming¡ªhe must have recognized her. Bell would have taken some kind of pleasure in it, knowing that the man was terrified of her and that she had him completely in the palms of her hands, at her mercy¡ªbut Loybol didn¡¯t.

    She had an objective. She completed the objective.

    Nothing more, nothing less.

    But¡ª

    Both of them moved through their motions with a clear, crisp certainty that made me feel guilty for even thinking that something they were doing wasn¡¯t objectively the right thing to do. They were born for this. There was nothing else in the world they could do but this.

    They were who I wanted to be; except that I was myself.

    Loybol put two fingers on the man¡¯s forehead, and the liquid drained from her¡ªtracing angled lines right down to his tear ducts; some going down his mouth, some going around to his ears.

    It did not look painless. He thrashed in the chair and his eyes rolled back¡ªconcrete rising up to brace his legs so he couldn¡¯t knock himself over.

    And as the liquid flowed into him, Loybol did not move. She did not react. The man screamed against the gag, a tortured, muffled animal death-cry, and slowly that cry lowered to a whimper, and them fell silent.

    We all stood there for a moment, just existing.

    Then Loybol spoke: ¡°There¡¯s a sweet spot to this,¡± she said. ¡°Where some people are too weak to take it, and some are too strong to be taken.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Her regular talking voice was so quiet. I couldn¡¯t imagine her ever raising her voice¡ªand I decided that I didn¡¯t want to be anywhere near the situation that she would have to in.

    Bell said, ¡°I guess he wasn¡¯t one of yours, then.¡±

    ¡°None of them were,¡± Loybol replied, without looking away from the man. ¡°I got here an hour before you did, I think. Thomas wouldn¡¯t have been able to detect me, and I¡¯m fairly certain Wyatt was out of his range, so he couldn¡¯t have known he was dead, either.¡±

    The man¡¯s eyes had fully rolled back into his skull¡ªfurther than I figured eyes should be able to go. Loybol went on: ¡°Hopefully he doesn¡¯t end up too subservient. I don¡¯t get a whole lot of control over how much they grovel.¡±

    ¡°Grovel?¡±

    ¡°Some of the people I have only refer to me by a title,¡± Loybol said. ¡°Sometimes they bow when I walk by. I¡¯ve been called a goddess before. It¡¯s¡ªfine, I suppose, if you¡¯re into that kind of thing, but it¡¯s always just made me uncomfortable.¡±

    Bell just looked impressed more than anything else. ¡°How about that.¡±

    ¡°Trust me, it¡¯s not as fun as it sounds.¡±

    ¡°I bet,¡± Bell said, and convinced no one. Seeing that her agreement fell on deaf ears, she quickly changed the subject. ¡°How long before we can talk to him?¡±

    ¡°A minute or so,¡± Loybol said. ¡°I¡¯m not feeling much resistance. Should be quick.¡±

    I just watched. I couldn¡¯t do much else. All of this was beyond me.

    I was a queen among goddesses.

    Loybol looked a little paler than before; a bit emaciated. I guess assimilating someone with the black liquid was a bit like donating blood. A physical part of her was gone.

    After a minute or so, the man¡¯s eyes opened. He looked up, and Loybol untied his gag.

    He took stock of the assembled, and then lowered his eyes. ¡°Miss Loybol,¡± he said, low. I imagined it accompanied by a bow; that is, if he wasn¡¯t still tied to a chair.

    ¡°Eye contact is fine,¡± Loybol replied.

    He looked up at her. She shrugged, glancing back at us. ¡°Well, I guess this isn¡¯t as awkward as it could be.¡±

    Then she turned her attention back to the man. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she asked him.

    ¡°Thomas Petri,¡± he replied. His voice was perfectly even, and oddly hollow¡ªhe knew what he was saying, but I¡¯m not sure he¡¯d know who ¡°Thomas Petri¡± was if you asked him.

    Loybol raised her eyebrows at the sound of it. ¡°Any relation to Julius?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Shame,¡± she said. ¡°Where did you come from?¡±

    Loybol held one finger up to delay Petri¡¯s response, and she said to us: ¡°Watch this. Guys like Petri here have a tendency to have dead-men''s locks on vital pieces of information, which keeps it from other telepaths if they get overpowered. For me, though...¡±

    Loybol¡¯s one finger turned to a beckon. Instantly, Petri replied: ¡°White Plains.¡±

    Bell frowned. ¡°That¡¯s not one of ours.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Loybol agreed. She then asked: ¡°Is Wyatt alive or dead?¡±

    ¡°Alive,¡± Petri said, ¡°Far as I know. I can¡¯t feel him from here.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve got bad news for you,¡± Loybol said.

    Petri sucked in his lips, looked down at his lap. ¡°Mmm.¡±

    ¡°You had no idea I was here, did you?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡± Petri asked. He relaxed back a bit. ¡°I mean¡ªfeel like I should be able to do that, y¡¯know?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s two floors up through a bunch of concrete,¡± Loybol said. ¡°Don¡¯t beat yourself up over it.¡±

    Petri tried to shrug, and then realized he was still tied to a chair. ¡°I actually, honestly forgot that I was tied to a chair,¡± he said. ¡°God, this is weird.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re aware of what¡¯s happened to you,¡± Loybol said, slowly. Suddenly defensive again.

    ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve been freed,¡± Petri said. ¡°I¡¯d feel a bit more liberated if I wasn¡¯t tied up, but...¡±

    He tried to shrug again. ¡°Dammit.¡±

    ¡°Are you just groveling, or did I actually free you from something?¡± Loybol asked. Back to business.

    Petri blinked. The question went in one ear and out the other. ¡°Um¡ªI...think I¡¯m just groveling?¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t under anyone¡¯s control before.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Petri said. ¡°Man, I¡ªI feel like I should be panicking, or really upset or something, or maybe I should be in pain, but I¡¯m just...not? Like...I know I¡¯m not supposed to feel like this, but I do, and for some reason I¡¯m okay with it?¡±

    ¡°Do me a favor,¡± Loybol said.

    ¡°Anything,¡± Petri said, instantly. ¡°God, that¡¯s¡­um, that came out fast.¡±

    ¡°Can you expel any of the Umbroids from yourself?¡± Loybol asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s what you call them?¡± Bell snickered.

    ¡°Whoa whoa whoa¡ªwhen the fuck did they get here?¡± Petri motioned at us with his head, as best he could while tied up. ¡°Have they been here the whole time? How did I not notice two other people in here? Is¡ªfuck, is that a kid? You have a daughter?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Loybol said, a touch too fast for it to be natural. ¡°I definitely do not have any kids. They¡¯ve been here the whole time.¡±

    ¡°God,¡± Petri said, lost. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°This is so weird,¡± he repeated.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± Loybol replied. ¡°Although, you being mostly all there is actually really good for me.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡± Petri said back, the hollowness persisting in his voice. ¡°That¡¯s good.¡±

    It didn¡¯t sound like he thought that was good.

    ¡°It means you¡¯ll have a snowball¡¯s chance in hell at blending in when you go home.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not coming back with you?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Loybol said. ¡°In all likelihood, you¡¯ll never see me again, unless something very strange happens. Just to double-check something¡ªErika¡­no, wait. Bell, can you think of a word for a second?¡±

    Bell nodded. ¡°Got it.¡±

    For what felt like the billionth time that night, I flushed red. Loybol made the right call, but that call was based on assumed weakness. True assumed weakness, but I was supposed to make that judgement myself. When someone else did it for me, it hurt so much more.

    But it wasn¡¯t the time to bring that up, so I clenched my jaw, let the heat spread over my cheeks and did nothing.

    ¡°Bread,¡± Petri said. ¡°Man, I¡¯m hungry, too. I wasn¡¯t hungry when I¡ªwait, was I? I¡ªI don¡¯t remember.¡±

    ¡°You probably were,¡± Loybol said. ¡°I doubt they were feeding you all that much.¡±

    ¡°Given that I¡¯m tied up, probably not. Unless they were spoon-feeding me.¡±

    "Well, it seems like your key''s fine. Here''s the deal: is someone from your organization coming to pick you up?"

    Petri nodded. "Yeah. Uh¡ªfour guys in a pick-up truck. An old Tundra, I think. Silver. Don''t know the year."

    "That''s plenty," Loybol replied. "Which direction?"

    "They''re coming down from the north," Petri said. ¡°Nobody all that strong, I think.¡±

    ¡°Any telepaths?¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Petri said. ¡°It was a tall order to get myself out here for this, let alone get another one to send for the pickup. We¡¯re, uh, kind of valuable. Don¡¯t you have, like, eight or ten telepaths just lying around?¡±

    Loybol grimaced. ¡°That¡¯s the rumor, huh.¡±

    ¡°Sure is.¡±

    ¡°I have enough,¡± Loybol said. ¡°The exact number I need and no more.¡±

    ¡°What number is that?¡±

    Loybol raised her eyebrows. ¡°More than one and less than a thousand. When is the truck getting here?¡±

    Petri shrugged. ¡°I sort of thought they¡¯d be here already. Maybe they got held up.¡±

    Loybol frowned, glanced at me. ¡°Erika, you go out there. Bell will meet you in a bit, and I¡¯ll follow with Petri a bit after that.¡±

    She technically didn¡¯t get to order us around¡ªwe didn¡¯t answer to her¡ªbut both of us just nodded, instinctively.

    I turned for the steps right away.

 43 - Lunar Caustic (5) [August 11th, Age 14]

    I was brainstorming ways to make this as big and violent as possible. I wanted it to be theatrical, I wanted it to be grand. It should be a spectacle¡ªone that would say confidently, loudly, with trumpets and fanfare and the roar of an invincible war machine: we were here, we were ready, and our victory was assured.

    I closed the door to the basement where Loybol and Bell were gently, as though there was anyone left alive in this facility to be bothered by a slamming door. There was probably a back door that led to the other side of the facility, but I was uncomfortable wandering around the place on my own, so I left through the entrance I knew. Not like I had anything to be afraid of. Not like I could be stopped by anything here.

    Even though I was only the third-strongest person in the room down there. In the cell where Petri was held, I was on the bottom side of the power scale¡ªand if we took a table of who¡¯d win in a fight among everyone there, I doubted I could even beat him.

    I was weak down there. In abstract, powerful¡ªin context, the weakest link.

    Thinking about it made my feet numb; it made me not feel where I was walking. Trudging along through overgrown grass along the road¡ªan endless cornfield to my left, the imposing city-wall of the industrial barn to my right. It made me acutely aware of the cold moonlight, a few shades yellower than the white floodlights that dotted the wall like archers¡¯-holes.

    It was quiet out there, quieter than any world I¡¯d ever known. There was no distant whir of air-conditioning unit, no Doppler-whoosh of passing traffic. It was still. Dead.

    And all around me were the cornstalks, black in the dark. Unmoving, unfeeling. Curving outward into a dull blur in the distance¡ªmelding with the tree-line. A vertical pool of emptiness on all sides.

    I walked.

    I figured I¡¯d see the oncoming car before they saw me; and then I re-thought that and realized I wouldn¡¯t be able to tell if it was the target or just a random passer-by. Not that I could imagine anyone having a legitimate reason to be out at this time of night.

    If I couldn¡¯t see the car¡ªtrying to suffocate the pit opening in my stomach at the thought of it, knowing that nobody would really be able to see the specific make and model of a vehicle at night from as far away as I wanted to, voided future or not¡ªthen I could at least feel the car.

    I¡¯d never really gotten a sense for how far I could manipulate water from, but given what I knew about myself, it was probably both further than I thought, and further than anyone else thought.

    So I tiptoed into the corn¡ªas if anyone would see me go in¡ªjust far enough to not be visible from the road, which, given the darkness, was only a handful of feet. Then, I stole the water from several scattered stalks of corn¡ªpicked at random from deep in the field¡ªand formed a ball of water about the size of a volleyball in front of me. I pushed it out into the road and scattered it into a fog¡ªholding it as a single, swollen mass with no distinct points. It was big enough where it wasn¡¯t strictly visible¡ªbut I could feel it as a shape. I¡¯d be able to tell when something drove into it.

    I didn¡¯t know exactly what the car they were coming in looked like, but I knew it was a pickup truck with four people in it, and I figured it was so still and dead out where that the next passing truck would have to be them. If it wasn¡¯t, well, I could never be held accountable. Nobody would ever know.

    I pushed the fog down the road. It was a bigger effort than I was expecting it to be¡ªconcentrating on it with leaves brushing the back of my neck and phantom insects landing on my legs was enough to make my breathing heavy and labored.

    Once I figured it was far enough, I stopped trying to move it and just let it hang there. I could keep it relatively still with minimal effort, although it would slowly dissipate, and be too scattered to be useful within about half an hour.

    So I crossed my fingers and hoped they¡¯d come soon.

    And crouching in the dark, hidden by stalks, I got to thinking¡ª

    Loybol had shown what she was capable of. It was a mighty and terrible thing, and as much as I never wanted to admit it, it scared me. How easily she was able to take control of that man and leave his magic intact.

    How was anyone supposed to stop Loybol if she decided she wanted the whole world?

    Bell, too¡ªthe way she played Randy for a fool, and snapped his life in half at a second¡¯s notice as soon as the moment was right. Bell and Loybol were on the same page on everything¡ªinstantly they knew what the other wanted, and how the other was planning to go about it.

    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    And I was just there.

    So I swallowed. I had to make this good.

    It had to be something mighty and terrible. Something to make even Loybol quake.

    Everything I had.

    I had to nuke them from orbit.

    0             0             0

    It wasn¡¯t all that late, but it had been a stressful past hour or two, and being hidden in the corn made me a little sleepy.

    Sometime less than thirty minutes¡ªif I had to guess¡ªlater, the cloud popped. Something large drove through it, going fast. It was only in the cloud for a half-second, but it was taller than a regular car, and it was longer, too.

    I shook the sleep out of my head, rubbed my temples a few times and sat up.

    Telling myself: make this good, make this good.

    I took a deep breath, and the corn withered.

    All around me rose the fog of water leaving the stalks like souls leaving bodies. Everything shriveled.

    Everything died.

    The truck slowed to a stop.

    I couldn¡¯t see it from where I was, but the sharp rise in humidity near it gave me superhuman awareness.

    It seeped into the car. It permeated all surfaces.

    I became omniscient.

    For a quarter-mile down the road, water rose into the air.

    For that quarter-mile stretch of road, it began to rain.

    Gently at first¡ªbarely more than a drizzle¡ªbut then I stepped out from my hiding-place, and the rain turned harder.

    I implemented an easy cycle¡ªthe water would fall, accelerated, and then it would run along the ground to the sides of the road and rise up again. That movement mirrored along the whole street.

    A torrential downpour along a quarter-mile stretch of country road.

    I began to walk toward the car. The water did not touch me.

    Someone called out¡ªopened the door. Stepped into the rain with an umbrella, as if that would stop anything.

    But just to be sure¡ªand partially because I could¡ªI changed the rain.

    Without any delay, the rain stopped falling vertically, and accelerated horizontally. A million tiny water-bullets.

    The woman¡¯s scream died in her throat. She was shredded into paste where she stood.

    And then the rain was vertical again.

    One of them reached to close the door¡ªand I acted faster than they could swing the metal; the rain swerved into the truck, blasting each person in a dozen places, and in four seconds they were all gone. A raging typhoon confined by the cabin¡ªthere was no escape, and no time to scream.

    And then the rain stopped.

    I turned around, and Bell and Loybol were there. Behind where the rain stopped, so they were both still dry.

    Bell was smiling¡ªshe casted a quick look at Loybol, who, despite herself, returned the gesture.

    ¡°Told you,¡± Bell said to her, smirking.

    And then the great and powerful Loybol, defender of Massachusetts, came up to me. Stuck her fingertips in her pockets.

    I sort of wished I knew her first name. That would¡¯ve been a good time to use it.

    ¡°Your talents are wasted on him,¡± Loybol said to me.

    I turned red. It hadn¡¯t really hit me how much I was craving Loybol¡¯s praise until I got it.

    But once it was mine, I cherished it. Held it in the crux of my memory.

    I was not a pawn¡ªI was their equal.

    ¡°I would never headhunt someone from Prochazka,¡± Loybol went on, quietly. ¡°Quietly¡± was her default tone. Even in a deafening room she would still speak low, and her voice would still be heard. ¡°But if something ever happens to him¡ªif this war we¡¯ve started goes south¡ªI want you to know: you¡¯re not going to be out of a job if you want it.¡±

    I was warm in the cool, still air.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said. I tried to meet her eyes and found them too piercing. I couldn¡¯t do it. She didn¡¯t seem to mind, though.

    ¡°We should head back,¡± Bell said. ¡°I¡¯m sure Prochazka is going to be thrilled about how this went down.¡±

    I felt like she was being sarcastic, but given Prochazka¡¯s stance on war, I wasn¡¯t so sure.

    Loybol nodded. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect them to act immediately. But this is not over. I can guarantee you that the city will see this exactly the same way we have.¡±

    She looked at the two of us. Her head was illuminated by the moon.

    I became aware of a great and terrible presence. The creatures she controlled, and the woman there, combined their powers to create a force I could only compare to something truly superhuman¡ªmore than the keys, more than the magic we all knew. A goddess among heroes.

    A black liquid dripped from her fingertips.

    It made me want to bow.

    But I did not.

    ¡°Prepare yourselves,¡± Loybol said to us.

    0             0             0

    Prochazka asked us, when we returned, what took us so long. It was supposed to be quick, he said. Easy. Maybe fun.

    We told him who was there. What happened.

    Bell said to him, ¡°The war you wanted is here. It¡¯s happening. It¡¯s now.¡±

    And I watched Prochazka¡¯s face swell into a smile. I could count on one hand the number of times I¡¯d seen him look truly happy¡ªand one of them was before me. Finally, his chance had come. One last war for an old scarred veteran who knew nothing else. Who wanted nothing else.

    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± Prochazka said. ¡°Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for months. But they will come¡ªand when they do, we¡¯ll be ready.¡±

    ¡°Loybol promised she would support us,¡± I said. ¡°She swore it. We were the only thing standing between them and complete control of the state, she said. And with that kind of territory and that many magical people to draw on¡ªit would be bad.¡±

    That was the best summary I had.

    ¡°Bad, sure,¡± Prochazka chuckled. ¡°Bad.¡±

    ¡°What do you want us to do?¡± Bell asked him.

    ¡°Nothing yet,¡± Prochazka replied. ¡°Until we know more. I¡¯ll be talking with Benji, and probably you, about what our preparations will be. For the most part, we¡¯re defending until given the opportunity to do otherwise. I¡¯ll be speaking with Melissa as well about this. We¡¯ve got¡ªa lot to talk about.¡±

    ¡°Melissa?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Loybol,¡± he replied. ¡°That¡¯s her first name.¡±

    ¡°Melissa Loybol,¡± I echoed. Her first and last name sat in my brain like arcane knowledge.

    Bell and I left the office after a bit more discussion with Prochazka. For a bit, we walked in silence, and then Bell said to me: ¡°First-names, huh?¡±

    And that was enough to make me smile again.

 44 - Dead-Heart Confession (1) [October 4th, Age 14]

    I wish I could say it was good forever.

    I¡¯d settled into a ritual where I would wake up, race to put on my contacts before my brain had a chance to process what I¡¯d lost, and sit perfectly still¡ªblinking rapidly¡ªuntil my vision restored itself to something resembling normal.

    Every month I was receiving new contacts in the mail. The deterioration was close to linear now. Sophia had figured out a system that had gotten me through a year and change, but in the back of my mind lurked the truth. A dark splotch spreading its tendrils across each of my thoughts¡ªevery one of them stained with the smell and feeling of it.

    I couldn¡¯t interact with it. I wouldn¡¯t allow myself to¡ªbut the closest I got was the morning of October 4<sup>th</sup>.

    It wasn¡¯t any different than any other morning. I performed my sacred ritual¡ªnow with the added step of squeezing the stuffed frog Ava gave me for support while I waited for everything to go back to normal again. Came down from the bunk bed. Made my coffee with Cygnus, who pretended not to know what was going on with me.

    I think, in hindsight, that he also knew what I couldn¡¯t say. Maybe everyone in Unit 6 did. Maybe they were all just waiting for the whole thing to fall apart.

    Yoru, Ava, and Benji slowly stopped speaking to me. I¡¯d been doing my best to try and keep everything the same, but the black splotch in the back of my mind took everything I said and tilted it a half-register off-kilter. In tone or content or whatever it was¡ªeverything that came out of my mouth was wrong, and I couldn¡¯t fix it no matter what I did.

    They knew what was coming.

    Only Cygnus and Bell stayed.

    Cygnus would talk to me in the mornings over coffee and whatever random bread-like product we had lying around. Sometimes eggs, if he woke up earlier than me and was feeling charitable or if I was feeling particularly chipper. Days like those almost made me thankful that Hal was usually gone by the time I woke up, back in the forgotten days¡ªI could whip up a whole breakfast for myself with a vigor and skill that was enough to made Ava add yet another entry to the list of things she harbored an iron jealousy against me for.

    And Bell¡ªBell was around a lot more than she used to be. Something about Ava¡¯s outburst against her a few months back must¡¯ve stuck in her brain, because she was taking shorter missions¡ªone- or two-day ones, occasionally three. But no more multi-week, multi-month sprawling mind-benders where she¡¯d come home dazed and silent, morphing her body this way and that in the darkness of the three-AM common room, trying to remember what she used to look like by the comfort of her skin alone.

    And so, on the days when Bell was around, she¡¯d find me during meals, or in the halls. Sometimes even at the bar downstairs. She¡¯d sit on a stool alone and tell me stories of all her escapades, sipping lightly on something fruity.

    And then we¡¯d go upstairs, back home, and meet up with Cygnus for some TV. Yoru wasn¡¯t joining us anymore, but I could catch him stealing glances at the screen from behind a book, over on his bed. I knew he wanted to, but he never came clean.

    In a lot of ways, Bell, Cygnus, and I formed Unit 7.

    We would often joke about that¡ªwhen Bell would finish her one drink (and it was always just one, regardless of what was in it), I¡¯d say, ¡°Time for some Unit 7 TV time,¡± and Bell would nod and smile and agree, and we¡¯d go upstairs and take part in the other sacred ritual, and for an hour or two I¡¯d forget who I was.

    And then in the morning I would remember again.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    On October 4<sup>th</sup>, Cygnus and I sipped our coffees in relative silence. We both had the day off while no one else did, so the room was empty except for us. And despite not having to censor ourselves in front of Ava or Yoru, we found ourselves with nothing much to say for most of our first mugs.

    By the second cup, though, Cygnus found something.

    ¡°How¡¯s it been?¡± he asked me. A benign enough question for most, but for me, I knew what he was getting at immediately¡ªand the black horror in the back of my head stirred awake.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    He nodded. Looked down at his coffee. Thought about saying more¡ªthat much was obvious, even for me¡ªbut instead, he just grimaced for a second and downed the rest of the cup.

    Then the door creaked open, and Sophia walked in.

    In the two years I¡¯d been at the Radiant, I think that was the first time I¡¯d seen Sophia outside of the first floor. We crossed paths outside of the ward extremely rarely.

    But the fact that she found it correct to come all the way up to our hideout to find me¡ªand of course it was to find me, what other reason could there be?¡ªswelled the black tumor even more.

    It choked out my ability to think or speak.

    ¡°Erika,¡± she said, slowly. Solemn. Her whole body tensed. For the first time, wearing her key-necklace. ¡°We need to talk.¡±

    Cygnus went to take a sip of his coffee and realized there wasn¡¯t anything left.

    I was standing. I didn¡¯t remember getting up.

    Not focused on anything in particular. I knew what this was about.

    I¡¯d known since that morning. I¡¯d known since I became aware of that black force in the back of my mind.

    Cygnus stood. ¡°I¡¯ll come too,¡± he said.

    Sophia shook her head. ¡°No,¡± she replied, and she shot him a look so devoid of feeling that it made him sit down again.

    I blinked. We were in the ward. She was sitting on the little green-leather stool and I was on the green-leather bed. Behind her was the sterile desk with the sterile jars and their sterile instruments that I¡¯d become convinced long ago were just for show¡ªtrinkets for Sophia to organize and re-organize when she was bored.

    What good was a tongue-depressor to a flesh key?

    The thought fled my head. The shape in the back of my mind ate it. The thought had reached out to the forefront, stretching to my conscious just long enough to scream its name, and then it was yanked out back and eviscerated.

    I didn¡¯t know how we got there. I didn¡¯t know how long it had been.

    But I could feel it. Pulsing back there, just out of perception.

    It knew what this was about. It knew what Sophia was going to say.

    I was powerless to stop it. Time would march on. Sophia would say what we all knew. The word would be said.

    And I would fall apart.

    There was nothing I could do. I was weak. Vulnerable. Prone.

    Words left Sophia¡¯s mouth. ¡°Erika, I¡ªintercepted your mail, this morning, to check and see if the way I¡¯d been going about this whole¡­uh¡­this whole thing was, ah, going according to plan, and¡­well¡­¡±

    She shifted in the chair. Took hold of a bit of the end of her hair, twisting it absently. Doing her best to look me in the eye. I wasn¡¯t doing that. I was staring right through her.

    I was numb. The shape had taken my feeling. The sharp smell of sterility was gone. It had taken that, too.

    In my mouth was the dry taste of acrid air, and nothing else¡ªand I knew I was about to lose that as well.

    And then I would go deaf, and Sophia¡¯s words would go right through me like light through glass.

    And then¡ª

    Sophia said, ¡°These are minus-ten diopter contacts. Do you¡ªdo you know what diopters are?¡±

    I didn¡¯t move. My nerves were dead.

    Sophia continued: ¡°Well, um, it¡¯s a measure of lens strength. Measured in units of inverse-meters. Regular¡ªum¡ªthe usual amount¡­no, that¡¯s not¡­¡±

    She grimaced and started over. ¡°Nearsighted people usually have a prescription for something with minus-two diopters. For you, it¡¯s¡­easier to measure with counting fingers at twenty feet than with anything else.¡±

    I opened my mouth and closed it. I expected words to come out.

    But nothing happened. I couldn¡¯t make any sounds.

    She reached behind herself and took the box off her desk. I hadn¡¯t even noticed the box before¡ªit was a box of contacts, a different brand than I usually got, but contacts nonetheless. ¡°These are minus-ten. They also make minus-twelve, but¡­they don¡¯t make anything stronger than that. At that point, it¡¯s¡­not really worth it. And we can¡¯t have you wear glasses. Too many people out there have accuracy too good, and then you¡¯d end up with glass shards in your eye.¡±

    A trickle of frustration seeped into her voice. ¡°It¡¯s just not getting better,¡± she said. ¡°And I don¡¯t know what to do. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ve failed you. But¡ªI don¡¯t even know if I can say that if I never really knew what to do in the first place.¡±

    Sophia took a deep breath. She did not look at me.

    And then she said, ¡°Erika, you are legally blind.¡±

 45 - Dead-Heart Confession (2) [October 4th, Age 14]

    I found myself on my knees. Clutching at the pant-legs of someone¡ªBell. Begging her. My words tumbled out of my face. They were not my own. There were alien, sickening, transplanted into my brain by the black swelling that suffocated all else.

    ¡°Please fix me,¡± I begged her. Close to sobbing. Or maybe sobbing. I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t remember.

    I don¡¯t want to remember.

    ¡°Please,¡± I choked out. Small voiced. Crumpled on the cold ground. At the mercy of whoever would see me.

    Dead to rights. No outs.

    I¡¯d always hoped, feebly as it was, that this would turn itself around. That Sophia would figure out what to do to make it better.

    But she was afraid of me, like everyone else. I was always a quivering red spot in her mind, a hair-trigger from exploding, a hair-trigger from receding endlessly into myself, never speaking or thinking or wanting again.

    There was a part of me for each. A part of me to slaughter. To run amok through the world and destroy everything in my path because I could. A supernova held back by skin. Blow the lid on this whole life-charade I¡¯d fallen into wide-open. And who better to expose the secret life of the unfortunate than me? The most powerful. The most unlucky.

    A part of me for void. A hollow shell with no sight and no hearing and no touch. Each and every part of me that made me, removed. Until only the barest minimums were left. Lungs for breathing. A cold steel heart for beating. The braid of fire ¡®round my mind long since extinguished. Buried and frozen in an avalanche¡ªeverything else lost and covered in the depths of a dark and endless winter.

    I pawed at Bell¡¯s legs and begged her: ¡°Please fix me.¡±

    And she looked down at my pitiful self and she said, ¡°I can try.¡±

    0             0             0

    I was still on my knees, but Bell crouched down to my level. Even with a lowered stature like that, she still towered over me.

    I was completely and totally at her mercy. She could have ordered me to decapitate myself and I would have, gladly.

    And even as I knew that was wrong, I couldn¡¯t muster the mental strength to push the dependency out of my mind.

    Weak.

    Bell spoke. Words from a true goddess. ¡°You know, in my travels, I¡¯ve learned a few things about flesh magic. This might not matter to you, but I¡¯ve got a suspicion it will. Stop me if you don¡¯t care.¡±

    I hung on her every word. I stared at her blankly.

    She went on. ¡°The mind is a product of the brain, and the brain is a piece of flesh. But the mind controls the body, doesn¡¯t it? Sure, there are things it doesn¡¯t control, but everything can be overtaken, temporarily, by conscious thought. And it was enough to make me wonder¡ªsomewhere in the brain, the mind exists. Somewhere there¡¯s got to be a fold of gray matter that determines what we think. How we feel. What we¡¯re afraid of. And we know some of those places, and some of them we don¡¯t, but¡­it has to be there, because where else can it be?¡±

    I had nothing to say. I was incapable.

    In my ears I heard the music of my heart overlaid with the sound of my empty whooshing mind; the beats came erratic and sudden, a touch too many for instinctive listening, hard and abrasive on the off-times. It brought me no peace. It was impossible to follow.

    I stood encircled by it. It whirled around me, unknowable chaos-noise. Structured enough to be music, unstructured enough to be nothing but sounds.

    ¡°And everything can be replaced,¡± Bell said, leaning in a little closer to me. ¡°Everything is temporary to a flesh-key. Everything part is serviceable. Upgradable.¡±

    I opened my mouth. My words were lost to the booming percussion, the crackling snare-hits loud enough to reset trains of thought, the yawning droning screech that swallowed the world.

    Bell¡¯s words became quiet. Her eyes filled black.

    ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee I can do this for you,¡± the deity known as Bell said. ¡°I¡¯ve never tried to perform this kind of surgery on a willing participant before. My experience is limited only to experiments on prisoners. But if you are truly desperate¡ª¡±

    In the halls the air was cold and lifeless.

    Bell looked away from me. She examined the tips of her fingers, pianist¡¯s hands, and I wondered if she could hear the music I could hear.

    I wondered if she was playing it.

    ¡°I can see what I can do,¡± Bell finished.

    Again I opened my mouth¡ªand again my words were swept away by the typhoon.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    All I could do was bob my head up and down. Like a plastic ornament.

    To be taken apart and reformed. Brought low and brought high.

    I nodded.

    And inside me boomed and rattled the hateful death-song. The invalid-music.

    I looked down. I closed my eyes.

    I croaked out: ¡°Please.¡±

    Bell shifted. In the darkness I did not know what she did.

    I chose to believe she smiled her little quiet smile. And maybe that smile meant joy that I was going to choose life, no matter how tenuous a chance; and maybe that smile meant pity at how low I brought myself; and maybe that smile meant excitement because she would finally get to uncover the world that ticked and twirled under my skull.

    The skull of the legendary, the feared, the venerable¡ªErika Hanover.

    But then Bell said, ¡°Alright,¡± and a pinpoint hole in my heart burned hot.

    Bell took me by the arm. I let her do it. I trusted her unequivocally. There was nothing in the world that could make me not trust her. I knew she would never hurt me. I knew she would do everything in her power to save me, because she knew what I was worth when no one else did.

    She pulled me to my swaying feet.

    ¡°Let¡¯s find somewhere quiet,¡± she said.

    And my steps followed hers down the hall. The feet in two-step lock with hers. The eyes clenched shut. The lungs held stagnant; the hands loose and lifeless; the mouth sealed; the brain in chilled slowness.

    She opened a door.

    I was inside.

    She closed the door.

    0             0             0

    Hal stood behind my chair at the little wooden circle-on-legs we called a dinner table. That thing was worn and wobbly when we moved in. Chipped and bare and ragged. He always said it was ¡°well loved¡±, but I couldn¡¯t understand why something so cherished would look so tired.

    0             0             0

    He came to pick me up from school one day; I was sick with a twenty-four hour flu. I¡¯d known about it that morning¡ªthe creeping weight of nausea shifting onto my stomach¡ªbut I chose to risk getting through the school day over truancy.

    He said to me, in the car: ¡°Sick, huh?¡±

    I nodded. It was all I could do, lest I open my mouth and vomit again.

    ¡°When did you feel it coming on?¡±

    I knew the answer, but that wasn¡¯t a yes-or-no¡ªI had to give a word. Maybe a few words.

    I couldn¡¯t do it. I shrugged.

    ¡°If you knew about it this morning, you should¡¯ve told me,¡± he said. ¡°I could¡¯ve used a vacation day or something. Now they¡¯ve got nobody to cover for me at the plant¡ªshit¡¯s just stopped.¡±

    His words weren¡¯t directed at me. It wasn¡¯t my fault any more than it always was. It was the wind, the course of a river. It just was.

    I kept my mouth shut.

    We arrived home, and I left the car and crawled back into bed. I wondered, briefly, why I¡¯d bothered getting out of bed in the first place if I knew that I was just going to end up there at twelve-fifty-five again.

    Why I did anything if it would just be undone.

    Twenty-minutes later, Hal brought me a bowl of soup.

    0             0             0

    I came home alone. Ate alone; scavenged through the fridge for something vaguely nutritional. Watched TV alone. Brushed my teeth. Put myself to bed.

    It was Wednesday. That was the usual.

    But on Thursday, I woke up alone.

    I ate breakfast alone.

    And when I came home alone again, and waited and waited for him until seven o¡¯clock when finally the front door click-rattle-clunked its way open and revealed to the world that yes, Hal Hanover did still exist, and yes, his daughter was not going to be alone forever, I was struck upside the head with a feeling so large and complex that it overwhelmed me; it swallowed my understanding whole and left me with nothing.

    I watched him come in and take off his work boots and I just stood there and cried.

    Hal heard me sniffling, looked at me. Confused.

    He asked me what was wrong.

    I couldn¡¯t tell him. Not because it was forbidden¡ªbut because I didn¡¯t know if I was happy or sad to see him again.

    0             0             0

    Dan, Earl, Davy, Hal, and I at the poker table one Friday night. Blinds at five hundred and a thousand. I hadn¡¯t dealt myself anything worth a damn all night¡ªthat was one of the nights were I both played and dealt¡ªand that hadn¡¯t changed yet, so I folded on position. Hal was down to three-thousand, or our equivalent of three dollars. Saw two face cards in his opening two, pushed all. Davy was the chip leader by a rather large margin and called him on principle, since he had something better than off-suit two-seven and in that position, he might as well go for it.

    Ten-king of hearts from Hal, five-six of spades from Davy. Hal matched one heart on the flop against Davy¡¯s pair of sixes, catches another heart on the turn, and flipped the ace of hearts on the river.

    As he scooped his meager paycheck, Davy leaned back and pulled a terse smile. That was his third blowout at the hands of Hal that night. Said to me, ¡°You know, I swear you do this shit on purpose.¡±

    ¡°Have you seen the horseshit I¡¯ve been playing tonight?¡± Hal said back, laughing. He took a swig of his sixth beer. ¡°That might¡¯ve been the best hand I¡¯ve seen all night.¡±

    ¡°I only deal it when it counts,¡± I said.

    ¡°And that was one of those times, huh?¡± Davy replied.

    ¡°Every time I let him win a hand, I get another five strands of spaghetti for dinner.¡±

    I didn¡¯t think before I spoke when I dealt card games. It was better that way. I liked not thinking.

    What had thinking ever done for me?

    ¡°Maybe if I adopt you, you¡¯ll deal me a hand worth a damn,¡± Davy said back.

    We all laughed. Laughing was fun. We laughed all night.

    Davy slaughtered Hal with flopped triple-fours in the next hand.

    0             0             0

    Bell had told me, ¡°There is nothing in the world that can¡¯t be changed. Everything can be fixed. Everything can be replaced.¡±

    Bell had told me, ¡°There is only one way I know of abandoning fear completely.¡±

    Bell had told me: ¡°Let yourself die.¡±

    0             0             0

    There was a searing pain across the back of my head. It snapped my world in half, and for a second I was falling in a dark room, sitting perfectly still¡ªgoing nowhere¡ªcareening in freefall toward an endless pit.

    The pain snapped through my mind so hard and fast that I couldn¡¯t stop myself from lurching forward and crying out.

    Bell grabbed my arms. Held me while I held myself.

    And I waited and waited for the pain to stop.

    I waited and waited and waited.

    Bell whispered to me, ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡±

    She whispered to me: ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay.¡±

    0             0             0

    But despite Bell¡¯s best efforts, Erika Hanover died in her sleep that night. She was fourteen years old.

    There was nothing to say or do.

    In the morning, I was gone.

    That¡¯s all.

 46 - Halo-Eye Soul Collector [October 5th, Age 14]

    I went out.

    If I could bulge my eyes, stretching them until the optic nerve went straight and taught¡ª

    Slip a knife in back there and slit them. Let them roll off the palm of my hand into the dirt. Let them shrivel there in the dust, until all their color bled out over the ground. Pick them up, pop them back in. The nerve would repair in time. Everything would. The eyes would be dust. My head was already stone¡ªmy brain the center of it, pumping dust into every corner of my body. Turing my veins into desert-dry halls empty of any life.

    I went out.

    I would take them back. Forgive them.

    All of these things can be replaced. Eyes, lungs, hearts, minds. Every part can be upgraded. Every part can be swapped out. Nothing is yours¡ªnothing was mine.

    It was pondered: how many objects must one renew before the body is different?

    How much of myself did I have to rip out¡ªwith my hands, with claws and teeth if I needed them, with kitchen knives and cold-chisels¡ªbefore I could say I was changed?

    How much could I simply live without?

    I didn¡¯t need eyes. I had nothing to see.

    I didn¡¯t need a mouth. I had nothing to say.

    I didn¡¯t need lungs. I had no need to breathe.

    One by one I could trim these down. It was more efficient that way. Fewer places to be harmed. Fewer things to exploit.

    I didn¡¯t need a mind. I had nothing to control.

    I went out.

    Out there was a world bright and full of life and wonders that I could lose myself to¡ªplaces and people I could donate my all. My feet to the grass. My lungs to the air by the lake. My soul to the winter sky.

    So much to give!

    I could take all these things¡ªall these gifts I was left with¡ªand I could leave them. Distribute them among the parties most in need.

    Out there was a world full of the needy and the destitute and the desperate and the lost. I was one of them. I was out there, and I was in here. Out there were those who could not help themselves; in here were the people who chose who to help and who to kill.

    Who decided? We did. What authority did we have? It was self-appointed. Those out there had no idea that our whims decided their lives.

    Out there were the innocent people who could not ever fathom the truth¡ªthat there was no truth at all.

    I went out.

    I had nothing to say. I¡¯d given my mouth away to the coughing factories.

    I had nothing to think. I left my mind with the corpse in the alley, head in three pieces, blood strewn in an arc across the pavement like a star through the sky¡ªin a skeletal pattern like a tree of life.

    I had nothing to feel. I left my soul in the furnace beneath our home. I was told it would be fuel-efficient to use it, and since there was nothing left in the world to power it, I had to give. I was okay with giving. All I had done in my life was have things taken. Just once I wanted to give. So I did it. I didn¡¯t mind giving it away. I barely missed it when it was gone. I shook hands with it, standing in front of the great furnace in the basement, and we exchanged pleasantries for a moment, and then I said it was time to say goodbye, and we parted ways amicably, with no hard feelings at all, and then it climbed into the furnace, and I watched it do so with the grace of a prime deer, elegant and shimmering in the light of the red sky, and it closed that door, but it couldn¡¯t shut it all the way¡ªit needed me to push that last bit closed, to close the latch, and I did so enthusiastically, because I was so ready to give, and all I wanted to do was give, because every part of me yearned to give, and every part of me yearned to be given away, and this was the last piece in ensuring I could live on forever and ever in some form or another, and once that door was closed I watched through the grate as my soul melted, smiling all the while, a little quiet smile of understanding and peace, and it did not scream as its face sloughed off like acid on flesh, like ice cream on a summer day, dripping down like wax, like molten steel, hot and glowing and bright¡ªso bright I could scarcely stand to look at it¡ªand even though it was blinding I could not look away, and even though it made my whole world white and empty I could not move, because without that there was nothing left¡ªno eyes to see, no mouth to speak, no lungs to scream, no hands to take, no feet to move, no heart to feel, no mind to think, no soul to search.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    For all my life I¡¯d craved the world I was given¡ªand for all this time it was good.

    And it was still good. It was still good.

    I had to show my gratitude. This world was powered and run on souls like mine. Each person before me had come to this furnace and given what was theirs to give¡ªthe only thing, in some cases. After everything else had been taken¡ªthe only things left to give were those that had to be cut away, hacked off, sliced out¡ªwith scalpels and knives and plucked out with tweezers.

    Every part of me.

    I went out.

    There was no alternative. At each point in my life, I had to pay a toll. When I was a stone, the tolls were simple¡ªa bit of mind here, a bit of soul there, a bit and a bit and a bit. Until what was there was gnawed and chipped. But it was a soul, so it was good, and when I finally thawed out, when I finally softened, I could reshape it back into something I could be proud of.

    But there would be a toll. I was coming to it. I knew it was coming. I knew there was no way to avoid it.

    The toll came for me.

    And so I gave. Everything I had lovingly crafted, I gave freely, in hopes that the toll would be paid.

    But it was not enough. Nothing was enough.

    Nothing but that which I had repaired would do. That which had developed freely was worthless. My eyes. My lungs. They meant nothing. They were worthless.

    What mattered was only what I had taken and shaped with my bare hands¡ªwhat I had tempered in fires beyond life, what I had fed with light and words, what I had nurtured from a shattered state into something worthy.

    Only that would do.

    So I put my soul in the furnace, and I did so gladly, because I was alive and the toll was a part of life, and because I knew it was coming.

    I gave the furnace my soul.

    It accepted me and it promised what was left that it would burn bright for years and years.

    And I turned to leave.

    I went out.

    I went to leave.

    I wanted to leave.

    I was told I could leave.

    I was told that leaving was an option after one had given their soul to the furnace.

    I was promised that I could leave.

    It was foretold that I would leave.

    I needed to leave.

    I craved the ability to leave.

    I held the ability to leave in the highest regard, because leaving was the truth all beings could ascribe to.

    But I could not leave.

    I was not allowed to leave.

    I was told I could not leave.

    I was commanded to stay.

    It was required that I stay.

    I was told that I would be rewarded if I stayed.

    I was told that if I stayed, the world would be thankful.

    I was told that staying was honorable.

    I was lied to.

    I was told that staying was the true way. That all flesh craved staying.

    I was lied to.

    It was said to me that everyone wanted me to stay.

    I was lied to.

    I tried to go out.

    I went to leave.

    I was not allowed.

    I craved leaving.

    I was not allowed.

    I was lied to.

    I was told that leaving was the truth.

    I was told that leaving was the way of all flesh.

    I was lied to.

    I was told that staying was the ultimate aspiration of all flesh.

    I was told that staying was the truth.

    I was lied to.

    Lies were laid upon the shell. Draped over my head and shoulders like wreaths¡ªmy head with no eyes, with no mouth, my body with no lungs to breath, with no heart to feel, with dust swirling through my empty veins.

    It was foretold that I would leave.

    I went out.

    I wanted out.

    I craved out.

    But I was not allowed.

    The cavity of my heart echoed dully in my chest. My ribs protecting a deep vacancy. My skin stretched over bones and dust.

    I was not allowed to go out.

    I was told that I had done well.

    That my soul was going to power the furnace forever and ever.

    And in exchange, I could have my eyes back. I could take back my lungs. My heart. My mind.

    All but the soul, tattered just a few years ago, that I had painstakingly repaired every day of my life with a little bit of clay, with light and words.

    I was told I could have it all back.

    Everything but the soul.

    But I could go down, deep down into the heart of the factory, and I could see all the good my soul was doing for the world.

    The fire my soul kept burning bright.

    And if I squinted, even fifteen years later, I could still make out the face of it¡ªand if I let my mind¡¯s eye run wild, I could almost still see the quiet smile, the understanding smile¡ªthe unapologetic, the knowing, the feeling. It knew why I did what I did. It knew I had no choice.

    It knew I was who I was because I was.

    I was promised everything if I stayed.

    I wanted to leave.

    I craved leaving.

    But I stayed.

    Bell took my shoulder.

    She looked in my empty eyes.

    She told me to come home.

    And I did.

 47 - Bury My Heart in the Forbidden Garden [October 5th, Age 14]

    How does one begin to describe what had happened to me?

    Even with the wisdom of hindsight, it¡¯s hard. I can only recall the colors¡ªthe pulsing buzzing that rang around my head; the burning through my fingers. The heat through my face. The cold through everything else.

    And I can remember Bell. Waiting for me.

    I did not think for a long time after that. I spent countless hours¡ªabout a day, but infinite hours¡ªwith myself, locked in a soul-melting soundless chant. A mantra that I could not put to words. A catatonia that felt like failure.

    I was, and then I was not.

    I don¡¯t think about that part of my life anymore. With this exception alone, I go about my days as if this had never happened. It¡¯s contradictory to revel in the good parts of my days at the Radiant and ignore the elephant in the room, but I do it anyway. I live in contradictions. I do not make sense. I have long since given up trying to make sense.

    Solving myself isn¡¯t a productive use of my time.

    I don¡¯t think about this anymore. Going blind became a memory of watching a national tragedy on TV¡ªyour vision tunnels; you imagine, against your will and in brief flashes, what it would be like to be there; the memory implants itself in your head, time-stamped and all, forever. I know the day that I went blind. The day comes and goes every year, and every morning I take a deep breath and I close my eyes and I do not remember.

    I can¡¯t afford to. I don¡¯t have the time.

    Maybe it¡¯s unhealthy to do that. It¡¯s gotten easier over time, though, and after recent events it almost doesn¡¯t bother me anymore. The person who went blind four years ago was someone else entirely. A fourteen-year-old girl who looked like me, talked like me, felt like me. A girl who was named Erika Hanover¡ªthe daughter of Hal Hanover¡ªbut wasn¡¯t me. It was someone else. A perfect stranger, perfectly detached.

    I don¡¯t think about it for a very simple reason. I¡¯m stronger now than I was then. Not by all that much¡ªI don¡¯t get as many opportunities to flex now that I¡¯m more or less on my own¡ªbut eighteen-year-old me would beat fourteen-year-old me in a fight, most likely. The years have been kind to me, somewhat. It comes and goes, like everything else. I go from place to place. I have good days and bad.

    Eighteen-year-old me lived through blindness. It is simply a part of her now. It isn¡¯t good, it isn¡¯t bad¡ªit just is. Qualifiers slip off it. It slots right into the empty space in my identity where a middle name would have stood¡ªsomething for me and me alone; something nobody else really needs to know.

    But I know the way I cope isn¡¯t perfect. It can be broken. I know because it broke me once, and I can only assume it could break me again.

    I don¡¯t think about it much because it scares me. In the present day, it¡¯s the only thing that does.

    If not about it, I think around it a lot. The days leading up the October 4<sup>th </sup>of my fourteenth year. As far back as my youngest memories¡ªas far back as the day I was brought home from the hospital that Hal told me of across years of snippets and side-mentions. I consider if there was anything I could have done differently. If I¡¯d made a mistake somewhere, somehow¡ªbut never in the context of if I could have prevented it. I knew full well that there was nothing I could do to stop it. It came over me like an earthquake, a volcanic eruption, a meteor-crash. It was a biblical flood. An act of God. And even I, as someone close enough, could not possibly have stopped it.

    But I often consider if I deserved it.

    I don¡¯t think of myself as a bad person. I don¡¯t really think of myself as a good person, either. I try not to use qualifiers before my humanity. Personal experience says it leads down bad roads, and it¡¯s hard enough just existing, let alone existing on a side of a slippery binary.

    I¡¯ve done good things and I¡¯ve done bad things. I¡¯ve done brave things and I¡¯ve done cowardly things. I¡¯ve saved lives and I¡¯ve ended them. I¡¯ve been compassionate and I¡¯ve been cold. I¡¯ve been calm and I¡¯ve been rage. But I¡¯ve only ever been Erika. I¡¯m not qualified to make that kind of judgement about myself, and even if I could, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want to.

    Thinking about whether or not I deserved what happened to me is a sort of roundabout way of going about that, though. As we all know, good things are supposed to happen to good people, and bad things are supposed to happen to bad people¡ªand as we all know, it doesn¡¯t always work out that way. More than a few saints were punished by horrible deaths. More than a few tyrants died peacefully in their sleep.

    The truth is that I don¡¯t really understand all these qualifiers, and I don¡¯t really want to. They go over my head. The distinctions are too rooted in context and in the minds of their beholders. The swirling gray in the middle is too big. I lose myself in the circular system.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    And because of that simple reason, I don¡¯t think about it. And because of that reason, I never think about the root time¡ªthose two days when I was lost.

    I don¡¯t think about them because I am afraid I will find an answer.

    But now I am making an exception. I¡¯m going to remember it, just this once. I¡¯m strong enough now. Time has passed and I have become well again.

    I can.

    0             0             0

    Bell led me by the hand back to the factory. I don¡¯t know how long I was out there. I don¡¯t know how long it took her to find me. I don¡¯t know when I went out, or when I decided to try to go somewhere quiet.

    I don¡¯t know where I was. I never tried to locate it. As far as I¡¯m concerned, on October 5<sup>th</sup>, when I went out, I wandered out of the universe.

    And Bell travelled across dimensions to take my hand again.

    She led me somewhere close. I don¡¯t know where; but when she gently pulled my hand down to tell me to sit in the tall grass, it triggered a memory of the fields outside the factory where I was laying when I found out that Bell had come back.

    But I didn¡¯t see the factory. I didn¡¯t see anything.

    My field of vision was a sensation of light, and nothing more.

    Bell¡¯s voice came to me, after we¡¯d been sitting for a few moments in silence. The wavering grass in the low wind keeping me rooted in reality. The fingers brushing my crossed legs catching the whirlwind in my mind.

    She said, ¡°Erika¡ªyou¡¯re almost there.¡±

    Bell had not spoken to me since she took my hand from that distant place I¡¯d gone. I couldn¡¯t begin to determine what she was thinking. All I can say is that she knew what I wanted. And she knew I couldn¡¯t have it; but she didn¡¯t have an alternative at the time. Leaning on ¡°because I said so¡± to convince me.

    I did not make a conscious decision to give her one chance to make a case. Some other part of me did¡ªmy heart, maybe, or my other vital organs in a signed petition.

    She went on. ¡°If you can beat this, you can beat anything. This is the only thing that anyone can ever use against you¡ªbut only if you let it win.¡±

    The words found their places, their slots, in the grand registry of my brain¡¯s language. They sat there in their notches like perched birds. I could walk down the aisle and look up and point at all the beautiful words, their plumages bright and beautiful with the memory of lost colors, and I could see them and love them and not understand a single sound of their song.

    I didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°You¡¯ve already done this,¡± Bell said. ¡°When you saved Cygnus from the ambush. You blocked two attacks without seeing them. How did you do that?¡±

    Her tone. Her tone was off. The words that flew in weren¡¯t the right colors¡ªthey were muted, grayer. I watched them come in and take their spots, and I just smiled and smiled and smiled.

    ¡°Erika,¡± Bell said, again.

    My name came in and the birds scattered. The hall became a cacophony of painted noise¡ªand settled in the center was the vulture, the television-static winged beast¡ª

    I hunched forward. Breathing harder. Breathing faster.

    A little cry escaped my throat.

    There was a snap, and off to my left there was a bloom of cool air¡ªand just as suddenly as it came, it dissipated.

    ¡°Give me your hand,¡± Bell said, quietly.

    My hands weren¡¯t mine. I¡¯d already given them away.

    Bell took my hand, opened my fingers, and pressed into my palm a shredded clump of dandelions, cool and moist¡ªthe wetness of their bleeding bright in my palm, a perfect outline of every place they hurt highlighted vivid in my awareness.

    ¡°Did you feel it?¡± she asked me. ¡°When I picked them.¡±

    The cold spot in the air¡ª

    Slowly, my head moved. Up and down. I felt it.

    ¡°That was how you did it that time before,¡± Bell said. ¡°You don¡¯t need to see water to use it. You can feel it. When we stopped the New York goons in Utica¡ªyou didn¡¯t see that truck, did you? You felt it. You put a cloud out there and you got them without ever seeing them.¡±

    That was someone in the past. It wasn¡¯t me. I wasn¡¯t there, now. A set of bones wrapped in muscles wrapped in skin.

    ¡°It¡¯s not going to be easy,¡± Bell said. ¡°It¡¯s going to be hard. I don¡¯t want to lie to you, even if that might¡ªeven if that might make this easier. But I know you can do it because you¡¯ve already shown me¡ªshown all of us¡ªthat you can. You can feel the world around you with moisture in the air.¡±

    The cold shape of a dandelion in my hand.

    And Bell whispered¡ª¡°Please, Erika.¡±

    And I remembered the time when I saved Cygnus¡¯s life. When I deflected the rocks because they moved the water vapor in the air.

    I was omnipotent then. I was invincible then.

    And now¡ª

    And I took the moisture from the dandelion, and I pulled it all out, letting the plant shrivel in my hand, and I cast that moisture in all directions, but mostly in front of me, because that was where the voice was coming from, and I wanted to feel it.

    The droplets spread into a thin fog, so light that it was invisible, and they pressed forward, and as they passed around Bell her outline became clear. She emerged from the darkness as a cool sensation, a shape I could touch¡ªsix feet tall and change and sitting on her knees, face drawn tight in anticipation, waiting for me to realize who I was again.

    And I turned my face to meet hers. Where I knew it was.

    I felt Bell breathe. A deep one, a sigh. Had she been sweating? Her forehead was moist, too.

    But I knew it was not the same. It never would be.

    I began to tense, and Bell saw it and grabbed my hand.

    I shocked to attention.

    ¡°Erika, this is something you can master,¡± Bell said. ¡°It¡¯s going to be hard for a while, but then you¡¯ll get used to it, and then you¡¯ll do something better than just see. You¡¯ll feel. You¡¯ll know. You¡¯ll¡ªyou¡¯ll be invincible.¡±

    The word.

    It drifted into my head and it took its perch, kingly in stature, and I knew the meaning. It was not just a pretty bird to look at, a sound to go in one ear and out the other.

    It was who I could be. Who I strove to be.

    Who I was.

    The word turned its head to me and I¡ª

    Slowly, because I had to ask for permission.

    Slowly, because I had to steal back what I had leant out.

    Slowly because I did not know what could happen past this single action.

    Slowly I got to my feet and I stood.

    And I turned my head down, to stare with empty dead eyes at the crouching Bell.

    I am invincible.

 48 - Sew You Up Again [October 6th - January 5th, Age 14]

    Even after that, it wasn¡¯t easy. I would still wake up every morning in a cold sweat, frozen in my bed with the echo of what I¡¯d lost gripping my brain in its claws.

    And it would be all I could do to pull myself upright. To use the water from the humidifier we¡¯d set up in there as a sort of training-wheel crutch to feel around the room. The faces of Yoru and Ava and Cygnus and Bell.

    Those mornings became easier once I stopped wearing the contacts. I took Bell¡¯s advice. I let myself die. I went all in. Everything on the line.

    One day in November I went down to the lunchroom. Frustrated with how weak I felt in the mornings, and how much the vague light sensitivity reminded me of the colors I¡¯d lost. I went into the back, behind the counter, and rummaged through the boxes of plastic tableware and assorted items until I found the nice cloth napkins we used on special occasions. I pulled one out and felt the length¡ªnot long enough as it was, but doubled it would be fine.

    With an ice knife I made from a fountain, I cut it in half, almost all the way down, and let the two long strips lay end-to-end, fastened at the corner I left intact. I had a needle and thread I¡¯d borrowed from someone earlier that day¡ªpeople were much more willing to lend me random things now, I found¡ªand I did my best to sew the short ends together to make one double-length strip.

    It turned out that sewing while blind was hard. One more for the surprise struggles book.

    I took the strip and wrapped it around my head, over my eyes, and tied it off.

    There was no point in seeing the light. Light sensitivity did nothing for me.

    If this was my life, then I had to make it so. Nothing in half-measures. No sense in clinging to the shriveled concept of something I would never have again.

    I took a deep breath in the darkness. It was temporary. It was meaningless.

    I knew exactly where the door was. I could feel it behind me.

    I turned around and left.

    0             0             0

    I wasn¡¯t put on any missions for a few months. I don¡¯t blame Prochazka for doing that. Even after Christmas, when I felt fine enough, and had been doing okay in practice sparring sessions¡ªthe rest of Unit 6, slowly, had gotten on the rehabilitation bandwagon, following Bell¡¯s lead¡ªhe didn¡¯t want anyone to find out what had happened to me.

    I was a secret weapon again. Let the world think I was gone. It was fine that way.

    It was better that way.

    0             0             0

    Christmastime was approaching, but I hadn¡¯t thought of any good gift ideas. Call me conceited, but I had more important things on my mind that year.

    Over the weeks following the event, I compiled a list of things I could no longer do. The absolute last thing I wanted was to realize that some vital part of me, more than what had already gone, was torn out¡ªand I figured the best way to go about that was to face it head-on and give it a good, long thought. For all the things I found, I did my best to find a work-around.

    Early on I discovered I could no longer read. That one was easy; Braille solved that problem for people much more blind than I was. Truthfully, I was only partially blind. The enhanced awareness of my surroundings I got through slowly perfecting the droplet-echolocation felt, in a few respects, like an upgrade to regular sight.

    But it wasn¡¯t seeing. It was feeling; it wasn¡¯t vision.

    0             0             0

    One of the first things Ava did for me when she realized that I was going to make it, and that I was not, in fact, going to have to be put down: she went out to a store in Syracuse and bought me six decks of Braille playing cards, so I could keep dealing blackjack whenever we decided we wanted to do that. I could read those fairly easily by just sliding some water over them and feeling where the water was interrupted; and if I was careful about it, the cards wouldn¡¯t be slick when I handed them out. It was slow going at first; and it only got marginally better until Christmas, but it was going. It was possible, and that was all I needed.

    I could only deal for around an hour before the headache became too much to bear. I¡¯d start getting woozy and non-conversational at around thirty-minutes. After that, if people still wanted to play, Ava would take over for me while I went to take some aspirin and lie down.

    It was enough to feel like a regular person, though.

    More on the subject of reading¡ª

    I very quickly became frustrated with the lack of Braille-printed books. There simply weren¡¯t all that many of them, and they were tough to find in the area. The little town library had a meager selection, and I wasn¡¯t fond of walking in there unattended, especially since I was soul-committed to the blindfold at the time and I didn¡¯t want people thinking I was a circus act.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    So I¡¯d asked Cygnus to get some for me occasionally, and he did.

    One day, I was struck by an inspiration. Those bolts of insight happened fairly frequently in those days¡ªthey were driven by desperation more than curiosity, but I indulged them all the same. I went down the ladder of the bunk-bed and scooped a book at random from the old stack of non-Braille books we had yet to get around to getting rid of in some way or another.

    I sat on Bell¡¯s empty bunk¡ªshe was out on some mission, back in action¡ªand opened it to a random page.

    Ink printed on a page naturally causes a tiny depression in the paper. It¡¯s so small that it¡¯s almost imperceptible to a finger¡ªyou can feel it there as a change in height, but not closely enough to discern any meaning.

    But I had something better than a finger to scan with.

    I formed a tiny droplet of water, spread it thin into a rectangle so light in the air that it could scarcely be seen, and I laid it down on the open page over a spot where I figured there was text. It turned out that seeing text and feeling text were different skills¡ªit takes one longer to recognize an ¡®a¡¯ when it¡¯s something they have to trace than it does when it¡¯s simply something they can recognize.

    So I laid that phantom square down on the page, and I searched for the depressions in the paper.

    And there they were¡ª

    A ¡®C¡¯, an ¡®A¡¯, an ¡®L¡¯¡ªno, two ¡®L¡¯s¡­

    ¡°Call¡­¡±

    I began to shake. Last I¡¯d checked, Yoru was still on the other side of the room¡ªand in my haste I shot a loose ball of droplets at him too fast, too hard¡ªit found him and splattered over his face densely enough to get him a little wet; I felt him frown and wipe some of the water off his nose.

    But he turned to me all the same.

    ¡°Yoru!¡± I called, holding the book steady. It took all my effort to do so.

    He got up, put down whatever he was doing and walked over. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Look!¡±

    I put my finger on the words, and I shifted that rectangle¡ªwhich I had to remake, since in my haste I¡¯d let it sink into the page¡ªover to the next few letters.

    And I read to him¡ªexcruciatingly slowly but reading all the same¡ª

    ¡°Call¡ªme¡­a dancer¡­be¡ªbecause¡ªthe¡­dancer¡­wants¡­!¡±

    0             0             0

    But I would never have colors again, and that was the hardest loss to bear.

    I missed colors. I had a better understanding than ever of shape and form¡ªof the way things moved, of the contours of muscles and the clenching of teeth. I could¡¯ve been an amazing sculptor if that was something I had any interest in doing¡ªbut what I had lost far outweighed what I gained in that respect.

    The sharp blue glee in Ava¡¯s eyes when she cackled; the glitter-flash from Cygnus¡¯s newest sword; the sky at dawn breaking over the low and folded buildings in the town; all the things I wore and the food I ate and the cars gliding by on the highway behind the factory.

    It was gone. Non-recoverable. Lost to memory and rapidly fading.

    For each color I held onto a single sample. Ava¡¯s eyes for blue. The grass outside the factory for green. The dawns for red, the overcast winter sky for white, Yoru¡¯s favorite Christmas sweater for yellow¡­

    For each color a single representative among my entire life.

    I clutched them to my chest like the most vital pearls. Like they were as pivotal to my being as my own beating heart.

    I swore on every God I knew that I would melt into dust long before I forgot them.

    0             0             0

    Christmas day. We were all off work¡ªeven Bell, who traditionally found something or other to do on Christmas day to avoid spending too much time with everyone.

    I decided I deserved a day off (even though I hadn¡¯t worked a formal day since October) and resolved to spend every hour walking around in my pajamas with the stuffed frog on my shoulder. Who was going to stop me?

    Nobody.

    Cygnus had essentially the same plans. He¡ªsheepishly¡ªtold me about how he had to swap out the gift he¡¯d gotten for me before, because it didn¡¯t make any sense anymore. He made a point of dodging my questions about what it was.

    ¡°It¡¯s not worth it,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s no point in telling you if I don¡¯t have it.¡±

    Prodding wasn¡¯t worth it, either. ¡°Fair.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what I get for doing someones¡¯ shopping in June,¡± he said. ¡°I think I was out getting it when Bell came back in the ambulance.¡±

    The memory replayed in my head; and despite all the panic I felt in the moment, thinking about it now, in that context, made it almost a fond one. A moment where we all bonded, even though it was explicitly not that.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said.

    ¡°So¡ªlast month, I got something else,¡± he said.

    He held out a small gift-wrapped box; a cube of maybe eight inches per side. ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    I took it from him; it was heavier than I thought it was going to be.

    So I plucked the bow off the top and set about unwrapping it. Cygnus was by far the best gift-wrapper at the Radiant¡ªprobably because he was the only person who always got something for everyone.

    I wanted to get something for him. I resolved it¡ªas soon as I was able, I¡¯d get him something. It was the least I could do for who he¡¯d been to me.

    I ripped away the wrapping and opened the box inside¡ªand in there was an object it took me a moment to identify¡ªI had to pull it out and hold it in my hand for a moment before I realized what it was.

    A cool metal statue of a frog.

    Cygnus spoke: ¡°I was thinking about that time Loybol got Prochazka a gift, and¡ªwell, I know we all thought it was really funny at the time, but I personally thought that gift was really touching. And, well, I realized that I was somewhat capable of doing that, too. I¡¯m no artist, it¡¯s not perfect, but¡ªwell, I hope you like it as much as I liked that hawk.¡±

    I did.

    Tears welled up in my eyes. I made no effort to wick them away.

    In me, somewhere, a boundary broke¡ªthe force of it came through so fast that I was completely powerless to stop it.

    I stepped forward, closer to Cygnus, and I reached out and I hugged him.

    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, he hugged me back.

    We stood there embracing for an amount of time I can¡¯t quantify.

    It was a just second; it was forever.

    He said: ¡°It¡¯s good to have you back, Erika.¡±

    0             0             0

    Christmas came and went, and the dead of winter arrived.

    That first snowfall, I went outside. It was late some early January evening, according to Yoru, and the air was bitter and cold.

    But I took a step outside and the world was alive.

    Each snowflake shimmered like stars in my awareness, a universe of glittering silver, their forms landing on all places, and in that moment I existed in everything for a mile around simultaneously. I was in every muted lamppost, every skeletal bush, every person hurrying home in damp hats and gloves. Every window dusted over. Every car creeping down the highway.

    I was everything and everyone.

    And for an hour or more I just stood in the snowfall, only a few steps outside the doorway, and I felt the universe go by.

    And I knew.

    For whatever came, I would be ready. I could rise stronger than ever before from this. Not immediately, but in time¡ªand I had time; I still had time.

    There was time.

    I knew¡ª

    My voice will move mountains.

    My power will shatter the world.

 {Book 1 - Sokaiseva} 49 - Sew You Up Again [N/A, N/A]

    I lived on, obviously.

    From my vantage here in the future, I can say that my time at the Radiant ended a month or so later, with a bit of a whimper. Even though I performed one last mission for them that lasted the better part of two years, it hardly counted as part of my ¡°time.¡± ¡°Time¡± in that sense takes on two meanings for me now: one in the literal way, where it¡¯s just a passing of seconds, and another in the colloquial way, where it refers more to a prison term. I did my time, I performed my duty. I was punished and now I am reformed.

    Although, if I¡¯m being perfectly honest: the jury¡¯s out on the punishment, and the jury¡¯s out on the reformation, too.

    About a month from the day when I walked out into the snow, we go to war. The New York gang attacks, and we are deployed on that great grand venture Prochazka so often alluded to. Recalling these days now makes that attack seem like even more of an inevitability than it did at the time. In the moment, if I remember right, it felt like an inevitability in the same way growing up does: it¡¯s something that happens to you, something you come to fill without even meaning to. With the wisdom of hindsight I look back on that four month stretch between me going blind and our deployment on our last mission and I see only a bridge of time: we marched into our future without being able to do a damn thing to stop it. Children don¡¯t really imagine themselves ¡°growing up¡±¡ªthey think that at some point they¡¯ll just wake up as adults. It¡¯s not until someone¡¯s handing you a paycheck for filling out spreadsheets that you realize you¡¯ve made it, you¡¯ve completed the quest, and you¡¯re now in that fabled land we called ¡°adulthood.¡± Until that point, in your mind, you¡¯re still twelve years old; high school ended a year ago; you graduated last year, didn¡¯t you? Never mind the fact that you¡¯re twenty-five and all of that is a distant memory.

    Nothing grows gray hairs quite like remembering the times before them.

    I didn¡¯t grow up so much as I was stretched out on a rack.

    Some people have the luxury of pinpointing the moment they became an adult, but I don¡¯t. When did I grow up? Did I ever?

    God¡ªI was twelve years old when I joined the Radiant. I was twelve years old when I killed a man. I was twelve years old when I learned how to chug a beer, when I dealt blackjack at a table for money. I was twelve years old when I received my first paycheck, bought my first booze.

    I can subject myself to all the inquisition I want, seize all my thoughts and pickle them for preservation, I can wrench my mind in every which-way and still never really find an answer. Nothing in this dusty storeroom I call a brain does me any good. The shelves are full of empty boxes. The door swings loose from rusty hinges¡ªthere¡¯s nothing, there¡¯s nothing.

    Did I grow up the second I got my key? The moment my fingers closed around the metal and it lit up warm in my hand, the bond secured, the flesh chained, the mind unleased? Did that make me an adult? Was it the moment my icicle passed through the neck of some poor schmuck who didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d stumbled into? Was it the taste of alcohol across my lips, the slap of the cards on a table?

    Trying to find a spot just makes it seem so silly and trivial. Maybe I came out of the womb as an adult. I certainly had to play my own caretaker most of the time, and that¡¯s what adults do for children like I supposedly was¡ªso if my primary caretaker was me, and not my father, didn¡¯t that make me an adult by itself?

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    That¡¯s not even accounting for the possibility that I haven¡¯t yet come of age at all. Maybe I¡¯m still a child. In key-terms, where the lifespans of people are generally doubled, the math would check out. I¡¯d be a child until I turn thirty-six, assuming I make it that far.

    With the way things are now, worrying about this seems like a bit of a waste of valuable brainpower, but lately that¡¯s just how I¡¯ve been. I have far bigger worries to attend to. The world is not a particularly hospitable place anymore.

    Although I suppose it never really was, was it?

    I think about these days more now than I ever did in the moment. I was the bottle-up type as a kid. Nobody cared about my problems, so the least I could do was not bother anyone with them. In the long run, that didn¡¯t do me much good, but lots of things I did didn¡¯t do me much good. If I had to rank them all, bottling things up probably wouldn¡¯t make the top five.

    Maybe the top ten, though.

    The stone of eleven couldn¡¯t possibly begin to dream of what she¡¯d become on her twelfth birthday¡ªwell, no. That¡¯s not quite right. She dreamed of it all the time.

    Well, barring that, she couldn¡¯t possibly have imagined the world she¡¯d come to inhabit. This place full of magic¡ªwell, no, that¡¯s not really true, either. I had to believe in magic. Magic was the only thing that could¡¯ve saved me¡ªso I had to believe in it. My little nightly prayers were answered. I got what I wanted, didn¡¯t I?

    Didn¡¯t I always believe in magic?

    If not that, then, the eleven-year-old Erika would¡¯ve been completely stunned to see the power she¡¯d hold. I had become something beyond her wildest dreams¡ªno, that¡¯s also not right. My wildest dreams didn¡¯t involve me chained up like I was at the Radiant. In my truly wildest dreams, a lot more people ended up dead. Once I got my key, those dreams shrank in scope pretty significantly, down to just a group of select people¡ªbut the scopes of dreams tend to shrink as we get older, anyway, so I think that¡¯s normal.

    Even as I¡¯m recalling these things, trying to sort it all out, it¡¯s not obvious. In the moment, I remember, everything was so easy. Everything was so crystal-clear until we went to war¡ªbut I can¡¯t find that clarity now.

    I want to say I became the sum of my parts, but I¡¯m just not sure I can.

    Still, I recall. I recall and relive.

    I hope I¡¯ll find an answer one day. I can¡¯t help but feel like the clock is ticking. There are a lot of ticking clocks nowadays. Lots of things, and lots of people, are living on borrowed time¡ªand I, surely, am one of them. Any just universe would have wiped my bug-smear clean a long time ago.

    I guess we don¡¯t live in one of those, then.

    I wish I had more to offer than empty platitudes and side-mouth promises. I wish I had more to say about this chapter of my life, some kind of conclusion to draw, but I just don¡¯t.

    After this, we go to war, and any clarity I may have had in that moment was shattered. That much I know for sure¡ªbut still I pursue it. I want that clarity back. That¡¯s why I run through these events over and over again. I want the time when things made sense and life was easy. I want the time when I had friends and a bed and a place to sit and watch the world go by. I want the time when I had a simple job and simple priorities and things still made sense to me.

    But with the way things are now, I¡¯m not sure I ever truly had those things. Maybe I¡¯m not special, and what I wanted is just what everyone else wants: my youth back, back and frozen forever, a happy little snow-globe I can run around in circles in.

    It feels bad to end this chapter of my life with a shrug, but at the same time, I can¡¯t think of anything more poetic. I shrugged and said ¡°oh well¡± so many times in my life. Isn¡¯t that what I deserve?

    Wouldn¡¯t that be my one, true punishment?

    See Erika run. Run, Erika, run¡ªshe goes, she goes, and she never stops, and she never rests, and she never finds what she¡¯s looking for.

    My own little circle of hell, forever and ever.

 {Book 2 - Teardrop Two-Step} 50 - Pass You By [April 10, Age 14]

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

 51 - On The Ultimate End (1) [April 11th, Age 14]

    I wasn¡¯t afraid to die. None of us were. We¡¯d all had it drilled in our heads that we could die at any minute. Every second of every day was a blessing. Every time we walked out of a fight with our brains attached to our spines was a time we should be thankful for.

    I knew I was going to die here. That fact was buried deep in my bones. I didn¡¯t want to die anywhere else. At least here I could be certain that the cause I was dying for would be right and just, and that over my grave would leap the riders of liberty.

    Or something like that, anyway.

    I have always had a simple outlook on life. In fact, I¡¯ve always scorned complex ones. Any life-view that can¡¯t be explained to a child in two sentences is likely as reliable and watertight as a sieve. People who can¡¯t sum themselves up succinctly are trying to hide something from you.

    In my years with the Radiant, I¡¯d accomplished everything I¡¯d ever wanted from life. I¡¯ve only ever asked for a simple list of things: some friends, some recognition. Some comfort and some direction. I never wanted to be an astronaut. I never wanted to shoot for the stars.

    But after two and a half years of training, of crawling hand and foot over my own weaknesses, I was ready for something a little more.

    What was there beyond this? What was I supposed to do when I turned thirty?

    Nothing. I didn¡¯t need to think about it. It was too far ahead of me; plans for that far ahead just don¡¯t matter when you lived like I did. Even a week ahead was a stretch. Who knew if I¡¯d be there by then? Who knew if you would?

    When I was fourteen and a half, I was given an opportunity to save the world.

    Who wouldn¡¯t take that chance? Who would let that go to waste?

    The truth: my outlook on life was very simple back then.

    0              0              0

    Cygnus and I had stopped to pick up some pizza from a late-night place on our way back to the rendezvous point¡ªafter that, we spent an hour or so idly watching¡ªor in my case, just listening to¡ªTV before we went to bed. Rendezvous points were almost always random motels, although Prochazka would occasionally mix in a nicer venue to keep the scent trail clear. One time, the order was simply to camp in the woods, which normally wouldn¡¯t have been too bad except for the fact that it was the first weekend of April when it happened and a freak heat wave had turned all the dirt in the woods to mush.

    Mixing things up was the only real tool we had against the New York forces. Since things escalated between us back in February, we¡¯d been out in the field trying to do our best guerilla warfare impression. Making our plans hard to guess was by far our best strategy, since anything else was hindered significantly by the fact that we had only eight actual attacking operatives.

    The story went, from the briefings I¡¯d received on the matter, that one of Loybol¡¯s prisons was attacked on February 10<sup>th</sup>. That let loose a couple of New-York-based operatives that Loybol¡¯s organization in central and western Massachusetts had been slowly teasing information out of. That kind of brazen assault didn¡¯t fall on deaf ears in Hinterland, and within a few hours Loybol had conferenced with Prochazka and the pair decided together that the magical oversight organization in New York had crossed a line no half-hearted apology could bring them back over.

    They sent in a formal declaration of war¡ªa literal letter in the mail¡ªand the rest was our present. New York had been treading on our toes for a while, and ever since the incident in Utica last year we¡¯d all known in upstate that this was coming sooner rather than later. Prochazka had been preparing for it for even a while before that. The man knew his way around a pseudo-war, and said on numerous occasions that the signs couldn¡¯t have been any clearer. I remember asking him, at one point, what those signs were, and he didn¡¯t tell me¡ªbut it was only a couple months before the prison break, so I guess he was right, and it didn¡¯t really matter.

    This would all be fine if not for the fact that the New York forces vastly, hilariously outnumbered us. For all the preparation Prochazka had been doing, the New York team had been poaching magical people for their own army out of his territory for ages, and so their forces were packed to the gills with medium-power magical people while we had exactly six. Allying with Loybol alleviated that somewhat, since she had significant forces of her own and didn¡¯t have to worry much about New York coming up through Connecticut to get at her own operation, but it still only upped our number of actual, useful offensive units to eight people. And that was only because Loybol herself¡ªand her main enforcer¡ªvolunteered to help us take care of this problem themselves. Most of Loybol¡¯s army would be dedicated to keeping Prochazka and the rest of the Radiant¡¯s non-magical people alive while Prochakza and Loybol combined their knowledge of war tactics and ground experience to put together some kind of a plan that would allow the eight of us¡ªUnit 6, Loybol, and Eliza¡ªto somehow get inside the New York leadership¡¯s compounds and gut them before they could amass too much momentum.

    It was uphill, certainly, but I never felt like we were particularly behind in those days. All the platoons I¡¯d ambushed¡ªpaired alongside any of the other seven with the exception of Eliza, who I simply hadn¡¯t interacted with yet¡ªhad fallen apart pretty quickly before our vastly superior individual firepower.

    Two months in, and everything seemed like it was going okay. Both Loybol and Prochazka had deep pockets, so we didn¡¯t go hungry or anything, and we were able to change up our clothes to evade lookouts frequently enough.

    And so we went to war, just like I¡¯d always been told we would.

    0              0              0

    Cygnus and I caught a bus to Delmar, where we¡¯d be meeting up with two of the others at the library for a teammate swap. Prochazka¡¯s plans generally had us in pairs, targeting specific areas he suspected to be compounds for the New York forces. It felt an awful lot like whack-a-mole to me¡ªsince there were only people inside those places about half the time¡ªbut it was progress in terms of weeding out their raw numbers, and it slowly inched us closer to New York in a way that the officers over there probably found difficult to track. While our progression was technically approaching the city in the long term, there wasn¡¯t much rhyme or reason to the actual order of the places we hit, and I suspected that Prochazka occasionally sent us to places he knew no-one would be just to mess with anyone trying to track our movements. It doubled as a way to obfuscate our meeting points, but since they were usually in public locations with lots of civilians, we didn¡¯t really have to worry about being attacked there.

    We arrived at the library after a fifteen-minute walk at around noon. Despite the time, a low morning mist still crouched heavy and damp over the town¡ªthat was just the way the day was going to be, a fifty-one degree cool fog across every hour, and I would not have had it any other way.

    Days like that were fairly rare, but being outside on them did more for me than any stimulant could have. With a fog like that, and a humidity that high, I could feel every inch of every blade of grass for half a mile around¡ªthe steps of every pedestrian, every car on the road. It was all right there, right in front of me¡ªplotted on a chart that mapped the entirety of a half-mile circles¡¯ existence.

    On those days, I was omniscient.

    Cygnus and I went up the steps and inside the library and set about looking for a familiar face¡ªand we found it sitting at a table near the children¡¯s section, reading a book she¡¯d apparently gotten halfway through already. Loybol glanced up at us and back down to her book, lightly drumming on the table¡ªthree taps.

    At a different table, taking bites of a cinnamon roll I sort of doubted she was allowed to have in there was Ava. I hadn¡¯t pinned her as a literature type, but her book was bigger than Loybol¡¯s, so maybe all that time I¡¯d spent gently avoiding her would¡¯ve been better used getting to know literally anything specific about her whatsoever.

    She closed her book, scooped up the paper her cinnamon roll was on and went over to Loybol¡¯s table along with the two of us.

    Cygnus sat down first and broke the silence. ¡°How long have y¡¯all been here?¡±

    ¡°¡¯Bout an hour,¡± Ava said. ¡°Nice to see you too.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°Hello, Loybol.¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± she said.

    Cygnus had gone through the phases of meeting Loybol faster than most. On their first interaction¡ªthat day in February where we found out how we¡¯d be spending the rest of our lives¡ªhe barely spoke to her. That was pretty normal, given the tall tales we¡¯d all heard about her organization and the even taller ones about the woman herself. She was the sort of person who commanded control of a room without speaking¡ªall she had to do to get everyone to shut up and listen to her was just do a quick sweep of everyone present and make just the slightest eye contact.

    Her track record on stuff like this was impeccable, and Cygnus came to trust her as much as I did within a few minutes. Then he hit phase three of interacting with Loybol, in which she comes to be one of your most respected people, and then he hit phase four, in which you interact with her like she¡¯s a close business partner¡ªcasual, but gently reserved¡ªand I wasn¡¯t quite there yet.

    Either way, Loybol was the closest thing to a captain we had. While Benji was still our unit leader, that didn¡¯t mean as much out here. We all answered to Prochazka and Loybol, and Loybol was in the field while Prochazka wasn¡¯t, and therefore that made Loybol our closest commanding officer, and as such her word was law more than Benji¡¯s was.

    Normally I¡¯d have expected him to be a little bitter about that, but he knew the drill. Bitterness on that sort of thing was a waste of valuable emotional capital, and in times like these you had to pick and choose your opportunities to spend that very carefully.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Glad to see we¡¯re all in one piece,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°So what¡¯s up?¡±

    "No casualties yet,¡± Loybol said, crossing her arms over her book. ¡°As far as I know.¡±

    One of the more frustrating things about replacing sight with droplet echolocation¡ªas admittedly cool as it can be¡ªis that I can¡¯t read anything that¡¯s laminated. While I can read actual, printed documents¡ªvery, very slowly, with a lot of effort, and even then only if the pages are thick enough for the ink to make a meaningful indent in the page¡ªanything with a sheet of plastic over it might as well be wood for all I can tell.

    It makes for an awkward dynamic with printed books, where I can slowly work my way through one but won¡¯t ever be able to tell what the title is unless it¡¯s printed at the top of each page. Sometimes the title is slightly raised up out of the cover, which is tougher but still possible to discern, but most of the time, I¡¯m totally in the dark. To be honest, the speed at which the process goes makes trying to read printed books not all that useful, but it makes for good fine-control practice for my magic.

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Cygnus said. He angled his head slightly down, and Loybol shifted her arms a bit.

    ¡°We¡ªuh, do you mind?¡± Ava asked.

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Loybol said.

    Ava cleared her throat. ¡°We found a hideout about three miles west of here. Flushed it out. I managed to nab one of them alive, but he didn¡¯t say anything particularly useful. I¡¯m not sure where NY is finding these guys, but they¡¯re pretty good under pressure. They don¡¯t crack.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s been our experience, too,¡± Cygnus said. I nodded in solidarity.

    ¡°I¡¯m considering trying to assimilate a few of them,¡± Loybol said. ¡°If it looks like they would know something. It¡¯s not completely foolproof, and it takes a lot out of me, but if we find ourselves strapped for info, it¡¯s an avenue to explore.¡±

    A memory flashed by of Wyatt, in the Utica building, sitting slumped over in the chair¡ªcompletely emptied¡ªdrooling black slime. Just the faintest glimmer of motion in his eyes. I had to physically blink it out of my head.

    ¡°It¡¯s a brutal way to die,¡± I said.

    I expected her to say she didn¡¯t care, but what she actually did was agree with me.

    ¡°We might just have to swallow that,¡± Ava said.

    Loybol shrugged. ¡°We have plenty more holes to flush. One of these people¡¯ll be weak-minded at some point.¡±

    ¡°Holes¡± was the term we used for the tiny outposts the New York people used to keep tabs on their territory. They could be anything from basements to storefronts to actual, literal holes in the woods¡ªbomb shelters, basically. Each was staffed with between three to five people of varying magical ability, and by Prochakza¡¯s estimates there were hundreds of them radiating out of the city in a fifty-mile radius. Poking them out one by one was slow going, and that wasn¡¯t even accounting for new ones popping up in their midst. We¡¯d already had to flush the same hole twice on one occasion and I was certain we¡¯d have to do it again. Our Unit 2, and representatives from Loybol¡¯s organization, we were working around the clock analyzing security footage, traffic heatmaps, and area architecture trying to pinpoint where these things were. That kind of work sounded like my personal hell, so I made sure to tell Esther to pass along my thanks to them whenever she met up with us to pass along the latest news from the factory.

    At the end of the day, it was all we really had for a lead until someone cracked, but I¡¯d be lying if I said it in any way resembled efficient warfare. The work was easy, though, and it gave me ample opportunity to practice some heavy magical lifting, so I wasn¡¯t complaining.

    ¡°Is it really not worth bringing Esther in?¡± Cygnus asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± she said. ¡°Esther¡¯s too important for spreading Prochazka¡¯s orders. We can¡¯t put her on the actual front lines.¡±

    I wondered if Esther ever imagined she¡¯d be actually working with us, after Bell pulled that stupid stunt when she visited a few years back.

    God, that was so long ago. It might as well have been a different lifetime.

    How the time flies.

    ¡°So we don¡¯t really have a plan yet,¡± Cygnus said.

    ¡°We do have a plan,¡± Loybol replied, even-toned. ¡°It¡¯s what we¡¯re doing. We¡¯re nowhere near giving up on it yet. Even if we don¡¯t find anyone, we¡¯re still making progress. There¡¯s only so many magical people on their side. Every one we take out is one less we¡¯ll have to deal with later.¡±

    But she pursed her lips as she finished, and it didn¡¯t take a psychic to figure out how she actually felt about that.

    ¡°Who have you all met with?¡± Ava asked.

    ¡°Yoru¡¯s doing fine,¡± Cygnus said. ¡°I saw him three days ago.¡±

    "Thanks,¡± Ava replied.

    ¡°So unless something¡¯s happened to him since then¡ª¡±

    She did not find that amusing, and neither did Loybol or I, so he didn¡¯t bother finishing the statement. ¡°He¡¯s fine,¡± he said, instead.

    Loybol turned her attention to me, and it was all I could do to not immediately wither under her eyes. ¡°How about you, Erika?¡±

    Despite the obvious implication that all of us were going to have to share what our last mission was, I still wasn¡¯t ready to speak. I hadn¡¯t prepared anything. ¡°I¡ªI was with Benji before,¡± I said, slowly, ¡°But, um, we didn¡¯t find anything. The spot we visited was empty. Cygnus and I¡ªuh¡ªwe flushed out a hole and cornered one of the people there behind a K-mart, but she wasn¡¯t magic and didn¡¯t tell us anything.¡±

    Maybe she would have, if we waited longer. If I held my tongue and let her burn herself out, and then let Cygnus do whatever it was he was going to do. Maybe we could¡¯ve broken her.

    But I didn¡¯t want to get caught up in hypotheticals. There was too little time in the day for that kind of thing, and not enough time in the future.

    Cygnus nodded. ¡°That¡¯s about right.¡±

    He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms behind his head. In the time that I¡¯d known him, I¡¯d never seen him without a weapon. He always had some kind of metal object he¡¯d sharpened into a blade, but right now he was short one. We hadn¡¯t had time to pick up anything and I think it was making him skittish.

    He stretched, straightening up in his chair, and just a touch, his head angled down toward the book under Loybol¡¯s arms.

    She shifted a bit and he let his breath out and sagged back to normal.

    ¡°Tell me more about Benji,¡± Loybol said to me.

    "I¡ª¡± Force of habit tilted my eyes to the tabletop even though it didn¡¯t matter. Even though Loybol was just a shape in my perception, I still couldn¡¯t quite look at her. After a few moments I found words again: ¡°We didn¡¯t find much. He was¡ªum¡ªwasn¡¯t happy about being stuck with me. We didn¡¯t talk much. We still don¡¯t really get along.¡±

    Loybol shrugged. ¡°Figures. Thanks.¡±

    I nodded, but didn¡¯t look up again. I wondered if Loybol knew what had happened to me just a few days after we first met. Surely she knew. There was no way Prochazka would¡¯ve withheld that information from her, even though he generally supported me.

    Did she trust me like Benji trusted me? Only within earshot and eyeshot? Only with things other people could verify?

    It had been a long time since I¡¯d seen him, but lately I¡¯d been thinking of him a lot. Somehow, despite either of our intentions, we always seemed to end every extended encounter with lower opinions of each other than we started. Something always went wrong at the very end that wasn¡¯t strictly either of our faults, but we ate the blame for it anyway. Aside from our two missions together during my time in the factory, we¡¯d been on two missions together since the war started, and one put us on a frustrating wild-goose chase that ended in nothing and the other involved me getting spooked by a noise while we were flushing a hole that caused me to spear our prisoner with an icicle. The sound was just a printer falling off a desk, but it was enough to make me do something I regretted.

    I knew that, to him, I¡¯d never be anything more than Prochazka¡¯s charity case. There wasn¡¯t any doubt about it. He barely spoke to me on that second mission, and when I ruined it, he just shook his head, slowly. I could only imagine the look on his face¡ªand I did, vividly, and many times.

    He passed me back to Yoru the next day with a few terse words and nothing else.

    ¡°Has anyone seen Bell?¡± I blurted.

    ¡°I was with her before Ava,¡± Loybol said. ¡°She¡¯s doing just fine. She¡¯s more used to this sort of thing than we are. We flushed out two holes in one day, which I¡¯m sure the people in those holes thought was hilariously overkill.¡±

    I briefly imagined being a no-name schmuck doing surveillance for the New York gang and being set upon by two of the most terrifying, dizzyingly powerful people I¡¯d ever had the privilege to meet for¡ªquite frankly¡ªno reason, and I quickly decided to stop imagining that.

    Cygnus was on the same page as me. ¡°Those are rough beats. Jesus.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me,¡± Loybol said, with half a sigh. ¡°I almost feel bad for them.¡±

    Ava ran the edges of the pages of her book through her fingers, as a loose nervous tick. If I had a book I¡¯d be doing the same thing.

    ¡°What¡¯s Bell been up to?¡±

    "Well¡ª¡± Loybol paused. ¡°The first hole we flushed out, we did the standard stuff. You know the drill. The second one, well¡ª¡±

    She trailed off for a moment. ¡°It was yesterday at around seven o¡¯clock, I think. The hole was the basement of a pizza parlor, so we got some food while we tried to figure out where the entrance was. Once we got it, headed down to the basement and found, ah, a scene. Or a scene in progress, anyway. There were five of them in there, and four of them had these big wooden boughs drilled through their chests¡ªand the last one was a nature key holding a gun in his throat. Couldn¡¯t bring himself to pull the trigger. He saw me come down the steps, and he loosened his grip on the gun a bit. Looked up at me like he was staring at God¡ªbut I didn¡¯t read the situation fast enough and Bell followed behind me, and once he saw Bell come down the steps his whole face flashed gray and he put a bullet in his skull without another thought.¡±

    Loybol shrugged. ¡°I think that might¡¯ve been our best shot. People tend to think they¡¯ll get mercy from me, and people tend to think they won¡¯t from Bell. I understand that keeping the teams mixed up makes us hard to track, but putting Bell and I together tends not to work out.¡±

    Ava nodded in agreement. I assumed she¡¯d heard this one already.

    Loybol finished, ¡°Bell came down the steps, and she could barely stand up straight down there. So she was just there, sort of hunched over, looking out at all the bodies and she just shrugged and said, ¡°That was easy.¡±¡± Loybol turned back to me, specifically. ¡°Does that answer your question?¡±

    ¡°I think so,¡± I said.

    ¡°Mmm.¡± Loybol looked at the civilians around us, picking through the bookshelves. ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel a little responsible. I think I would¡¯ve been able to get something out of that guy if Bell¡¯s reputation didn¡¯t precede her so much. If I told her to stop and shut up¡ª¡±

    The mere thought of ordering Bell to shut up made me viscerally uncomfortable. As if you could order a hurricane to disperse, or the rain not to fall.

    ¡°Whatever. It¡¯s not important now,¡± Loybol said. ¡°I¡¯m going with Cygnus. Erika, you¡¯re with Ava. Esther¡¯ll catch up with you and brief you two about your next target. I¡¯ll tell Cygnus about what we¡¯re doing once we¡¯re out of here. Okay?¡±

    Cygnus and I nodded. Ava gave a thumbs-up.

    I focused more effort than I¡¯m willing to admit in polite company trying to discern how Ava felt about being stuck with me from her expression, which required clustering a lot of droplets along the contours of her eyes and mouth¡ªsearching for tightness in the corners of her lips, measuring the space between her eyelids. We hadn¡¯t spoken much since the war broke out, and in the one mission we¡¯d had together prior to this we¡¯d been civil¡ªbut ¡°civil¡± had described the extent of our relationship ever since we¡¯d made up two years ago. Out of everyone, I picked Ava¡¯s words apart the most. Every sentence, surely, was hiding some kind of pent-up resentment.

    I picked them apart but I was never all that good at analyzing the pieces. It was a lot of work for very little tangible payoff.

    Ava licked her lips¡ªslowly, all the way around¡ªand asked me, ¡°Is that better?¡±

    I zapped to attention. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    Ava made an absent grunting noise and turned to Loybol. ¡°Are we good here?¡±

    My whole perception lurched back and for a moment, I lost everything. My face flushed red and I was smacked by the sensation of jerking backward¡ªin terms of everything I¡¯d tried to build with these people or otherwise, I couldn¡¯t tell¡ªbut it required me to close my eyes and breathe cleanly for a few moments to re-center myself.

    I came back and everything was okay. It was all fine.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said to Ava, again. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have done that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she said tersely, waving me off. ¡°I¡¯m not mad.¡±

    I swallowed the thought and forced myself to think about anything else.

    ¡°We¡¯re good,¡± Loybol said. ¡°Good luck, everyone. Stay safe.¡±

 52 - On The Ultimate End (2) [April 11th, Age 14]

    There was an unspoken understanding among all of us at Unit 6 that we were going to die here. There was no pension at the Radiant, no retirement plan. Being a Unit 6 agent was a job you held for life. This wasn¡¯t something that ever had to be explicitly mentioned¡ªit was baked into everything we did. All missions were done under the understanding that there was a chance, no matter how small, that you wouldn¡¯t come back. And the old adage goes that if you gamble enough times, you¡¯ll win, no matter how long it takes¡ªno matter how big the odds or small the pot.

    We stood to lose everything, but we also had nothing to lose. Who would know if I died? Hal Hanover likely already assumed as much. My old classmates in Red Creek had surely forgotten me by then, and certainly by now¡ªor maybe the memory of the candlelight vigil the school held for me outshone anything anybody actually remembered about the girl in the picture.

    Cygnus had already lost his only family when his father was shot. Benji was too old to have any family he could still contact while keeping magic under wraps. I only stood to lose Bell. Yoru and Ava stood only to lose each other. Bell only stood to lose me.

    We had no possessions. Nothing to inherit, nobody to bequeath to. Sure, the price was death, but that wasn¡¯t much of a price at all.

    We had long since decided that we were not afraid to die, and that was the long and short of it.

    0              0              0

    Ava and I exited the library and headed off to a motel that was about a miles¡¯ walk down the road. We didn¡¯t speak much, although that wasn¡¯t for a lack of things to say. I hadn¡¯t seen Ava in two weeks¡ªthe struggle was finding something I knew was a safe topic.

    The least I could do was prepare the ground for a possibly unsafe one. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said to her, again, after we¡¯d been outside the library for five minutes or so.

    ¡°I told you,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯m not mad. I get why you did that. I know we don¡¯t get along. That stuff¡¯s in the past, okay? I told you I wasn¡¯t going to be judgmental and I meant it. I know we don¡¯t like each other all that much, but I promised you I¡¯d be civil so I¡¯m holding up my end of the bargain. You don¡¯t have to wet my face to figure out what I¡¯m saying. It¡¯s the truth. Okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I mumbled.

    I hadn¡¯t quite realized just how much I relied on physically seeing someone¡¯s face to discern their reactions. I was never particularly good at dissecting tone, and while under normal circumstances I could lay the droplets on someone¡¯s face lightly enough where it wasn¡¯t meaningfully distinct from the ambient humidity, inside dry places like libraries it was much harder. Human skin is really sensitive.

    For the most part now, I just take people at their word. It¡¯s too much work to do otherwise¡ªalthough sometimes I still feel obligated to put in the extra effort, like with Ava. Despite all our years together, I still found it hard to completely trust her.

    She reminded me too much of my old classmates.

    ¡°Esther should be contacting us any time now,¡± Ava said.

    I swallowed. ¡°She¡¯ll just be talking to you, right?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s random, Erika. Could be me, could be you. I don¡¯t know.¡±

    I grimaced, gave a small affirmatory grunt.

    We kept walking down to the motel. The land here was flat enough that we could almost perceive it from the library, and it didn¡¯t seem like it was getting all that much closer until we were almost halfway there.

    Ava walked tall, with wide steps that I could barely keep up with. Every once in a while she¡¯d slow down a bit to let me catch up, but for the most part she just went at her own pace and expected me to follow.

    When we were just a few doors down, she abruptly turned toward a corner store we were passing on our right. ¡°I¡¯m just going to grab a soda. Okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get one too,¡± I said.

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    We stepped into the little shop¡ªwhich had the AC on for some reason, despite it being a nice fifty-five outside. She grabbed a glass-bottle cola and I took a cream soda, and when we got to the counter she plucked the soda from my hand and said ¡°Two sodas¡± to the cashier.

    She paid for both and handed me mine on the way out. As we got back to the sidewalk, she bent down and plucked a bit of grass out from the ground and wrapped it around the bottle cap. With a small exertion, the grass bundle swelled and popped the cap off, and then she took the grass ring off and tossed it back into the underbrush. She slipped the cap into her pocket and took a long drink, head tipped back and her eyes closed to block the sun, and again I saw her, just briefly, as an older, better version of me. The person I could¡¯ve been if I wasn¡¯t myself. She had the same hair, the same eyes, the height I wanted, the style I wanted¡ªthe collected stance I wanted. Nothing stuck to Ava. Everything rolled off her like rain dripping down plastic¡ªstainless, trackless.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    She regarded me with a brief side-eye. ¡°I¡¯m not mad,¡± she said again, firmly.

    ¡°I¡¯m not still worried about that,¡± I said. Now I felt a little obligated to show off, so I drew a bit of ambient moisture from the air, made a ring of water just under the bottle cap and froze it, which accomplished the same thing.

    ¡°You are. I can tell.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± I said, but¡ªtruthfully¡ªI was.

    How did she know that?

    Ava looked out ahead of us and snickered a bit. ¡°Wanna know something funny?¡±

    I blocked a little pang of worry before it could swallow too much of my attention. ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°So I got there right about when Loybol did. To the library, I mean. Right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Did you catch how Cygnus kept trying to look over Loybol¡¯s arms to figure out what she was reading?¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    ¡°Well¡ªI read fantasy novels, right? So I was just picking up where I left off on the last book I was reading before the war broke out.¡±

    That explained the bigger book Ava had. I vaguely remembered her saying something about that at some point in the past, and I think I remembered seeing her with an e-reader, too, but I never asked her about it.

    E-readers seem especially cruel to me now.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said.

    ¡°Well¡ªI got to see Loybol¡¯s book before she hid it from me. I only caught a bit of it, but it was called The Prince and the Chef, so I¡¯m assuming she reads trashy romance novels.¡±

    The idea of Loybol getting into something like that¡ªjuxtaposing the person I knew with the kind of person I assumed read those books¡ªwas enough to make me giggle.

    ¡°I mean, if you asked me what Loybol would read I would¡¯ve said Machiavelli or some shit like that, so I guess I would¡¯ve been two-fifths right if we¡¯re going by words in the title alone.¡±

    She didn¡¯t look at me, but she was smiling¡ªI couldn¡¯t help myself. I couldn¡¯t stand being in the dark. Even if what we were talking about had nothing to do with me, I had to keep tabs on it.

    I shouldn¡¯t be as afraid of these things as I am.

    But Ava was smiling¡ªyes, and she was walking fast and tall and long and from her perspective, from her eyes outward, everything was just as it was supposed to be. It was a warm early afternoon in April and all was right with the world.

    ¡°You¡¯re in a really good mood,¡± I said, absently.

    ¡°I am,¡± Ava replied.

    ¡°Did Esther brief you yet?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said. She turned towards me¡ªdown at me, just for a moment. ¡°But I¡¯ve got a good feeling this is gonna be the one.¡±

    0              0              0

    We checked into the motel and took up temporary residence in our room on the second floor. Ava ordered takeout from the Chinese restaurant across the street, went and grabbed it, and we just sat on separate beds eating our orders, experiencing TV in our separate ways, and waiting for one of us to hear a voice in our head that wasn¡¯t our own.

    I was hoping it was going to be Ava who¡¯d get the message, but I¡¯ve never been that lucky.

    ¡°Erika?¡±

    I snapped upright. Dropped my fork in the box, whipped my head around looking for the source of the sound¡ª

    ¡°It¡¯s¡ªErika, it¡¯s alright, it¡¯s me. It¡¯s Esther. Loybol¡¯s chief telepath.¡±

    I sucked in a breath and let it out, slowly.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to reply or anything. I know it¡¯s tough for you. The hole you¡¯re looking for is under the bulkhead doors behind the duplex at 54-to-55 South Street. They¡¯re gonna be locked by a bar on the inside, but the doors aren¡¯t airtight, so they¡¯re also not watertight if you make the droplets small enough. Ava might be able to snake some grass down there too or something, I don¡¯t know. My estimate puts four people down there. One of them is either a fire-key or just¡­really cold all the time. I found it on a drive-by so I don¡¯t have much, but you two should be fine. Get in, get out, don¡¯t waste time. Go back to the motel when you¡¯re done. Okay?¡±

    Eyes shut tight, I nodded, as if she¡¯d understand.

    She did, luckily. ¡°Good. When you¡¯re done, stay the night at the motel you¡¯re at. Meet up with the other team at the pizza place next to the fire station in Slingerlands. Okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± I said it out loud.

    ¡°Awesome. Good luck.¡±

    And then her voice was gone, and the sound from the television drifted back into my awareness.

    ¡°I hate that,¡± I said, mostly to myself.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Ava said.

    ¡°Esther told me where we¡¯re going. Why couldn¡¯t she have just told you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gotta be random in case we get separated,¡± Ava said, reaching for the remote. ¡°You know that.¡±

    I did, but my question was still valid. She clicked the volume down a few notches. ¡°Where are we going, then?¡±

    I told her what Esther told me. She nodded, slowly, and a tight smile spread across her face.

    ¡°It¡¯s a basement?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Ooh, yeah. This¡¯ll be great. I¡¯ve got some new tricks to show you, by the way. Since you¡¯ve¡ªyou know, been like this, it¡¯s been making me wonder¡ªah, making me think about other ways I can use this old thing, you know?¡±

    Ava took her necklace¡¯s charm¡ªa silver key with an emerald inlaid where the hole would be¡ªbetween two fingers. ¡°And I did some experimenting with Yoru and figured out a really cool upgrade. Maybe this is standard practice for nature keys somewhere else, but fuck if I know, right?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I said, slowly.

    ¡°Do you want to know what it is?¡± she asked me.

    I had to stop and seriously consider that for a moment. I couldn¡¯t imagine what about my experience Ava would¡¯ve found inspiring. I certainly wouldn¡¯t have, if I was an outsider looking at me. All it amounted to in my head was me bashing my face against a concrete wall repeatedly until I found a softer piece of cement to hit.

    I had lost so, so much, and all I got in exchange was this. It was a pale imitation of what I used to be.

    I found that I didn¡¯t know how to respond to Ava¡¯s question. It was the kind of statement I¡¯d have to see a twinkle in an eye to verify; I¡¯d have to measure her mouth again, check the contours of her cheeks, but she¡¯d already made a fuss over that once and I was not about to open that can of worms again, no matter how often she asserted that it wasn¡¯t a big deal.

    The most and least I could do was defer the question.

    ¡°Surprise me,¡± I said.

 53 - On The Ultimate End (3) [April 11th, Age 14]

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

 54 - The Process [April 12th, Age 14]

    We reported our findings to the team at large in the next meeting. One of our system¡¯s main weaknesses was the inherently telephone-like nature of it¡ªevery pair that had something to report had to rely on their news being transmitted correctly up to six times in order for everyone to hear about it. It had already happened at least once that a report we¡¯d received turned out to only be eighty-percent true because of that, and I was certain it¡¯d happen again. Having phones to contact each other with would be really convenient, and we periodically revisited the idea because of how inefficient our current communication methods were, but in the end we figured having a vector to individually track us with was too dangerous. Plus, I couldn¡¯t use one anyway, unless I got one with Braille numbers or another low-sight feature. Phones like that were tough to find in stores and shipping anything anywhere was a huge risk, given that we never stayed in one place for long enough to receive a package and we didn¡¯t know how deeply the New York gang infiltrated local businesses around here. I felt that it was safe to assume they had at least a few agents working in the postal service, and both Benji and Loybol agreed with that, so we all remained phoneless.

    That was just the price of doing business, we supposed.

    Ava and I relayed what we¡¯d learned to Yoru and Benji. He was very pleased with it¡ªlaid praises upon the two of us, but mostly Ava for doing the tough work. That was fair, and I didn¡¯t hold that against him since it was mostly her doing, but the idea that what she did was what it took to get an approving smile from Benji made me squirm a little.

    Lord only knew I¡¯d done what she did to significantly less fanfare at least once.

    We were sitting outside at a chain caf¨¦ along a well-lit main street in a town whose name I¡¯d since forgotten. I couldn¡¯t have pointed to it on a map with a gun to my head. Ava knew where it was, I supposed. I couldn¡¯t imagine this place was more than thirty minutes from where I grew up, but I¡¯d be damned if I knew anything about it.

    Benji and Yoru seemed healthy enough. They were both sitting up straight and nothing on them was shaped weirdly. Benji didn¡¯t seem particularly happy to see me, although he rarely ever did. His head stayed mostly tilted toward the table, and his fingers wormed their way between themselves in his lap.

    Ava and Yoru as they normally were, although Benji kept them on opposite sides of the table to  keep at least some kind of professionalism about our meeting.

    As far as I knew, none of us had even gotten injured yet, let alone had our lives threatened in any meaningful manner. We weren¡¯t getting anywhere in the grand scheme of things, really, but eventually the New York gang would run out of people and we could just march in there, unopposed, and take their kings¡¯ head if things kept up at this pace.

    That was the end-game, assuming we couldn¡¯t cobble together anything better any sooner. In the meantime, what we were doing seemed to be plenty.

    This whole war thing was turning out to be pretty easy in those days.

    ¡°This is the best news I¡¯ve heard all week,¡± Benji said. ¡°And by that I mean it¡¯s literally the only news I¡¯ve heard all week.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s like that,¡± Ava said, shrugging.

    ¡°Are we losing?¡± I asked him. It didn¡¯t feel like we were losing to me, anyway, but it didn¡¯t much feel like we were winning, either.

    ¡°Well¡ª¡± Benji paused, bracing his elbow on the caf¨¦ table and scratching the back of his neck. ¡°We don¡¯t know much about their plans outside of what you guys just told us and a little tidbit I¡¯ll share in a bit, but nobody¡¯s died, we¡¯ve taken out at least a hundred grunts, flushed about twenty-five actual holes. Overall I¡¯d say we¡¯re doing fine, even if it¡¯s mostly just a holding pattern.¡±

    The number rolled off me. ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°The tidbit¡ª¡± he went on, glancing at Yoru¡ª¡°was something Yoru talked about with Bell a while back, and we started looking for some evidence to support it and we finally found some yesterday.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll just tell this,¡± Yoru said. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    Ava leaned in a bit, and I did the same a moment later.

    ¡°Alright.¡± Yoru leaned back, cracked his knuckles like he was going to fight the story instead of tell it. ¡°So I was on a mission with Bell not too long ago, and we were discussing what we thought the enemy¡¯s plans were. Because there¡¯s got to be some kind of an end-game here. Well, we decided that the point of the holes were an attempt to surveil the populace and-or track our movements, which probably isn¡¯t working all that well. And Bell brought up another really good point, which was about the time in which the New York gang started this war. Why February? It¡¯s not like they¡¯re just a pot that chose to boil over on two-ten, right? There¡¯s got to be a reason. And we were thinking about it after a mission one night, and we came to the conclusion that all of the enemy¡¯s time-related plans are centered around you.¡±

    Yoru finished his speech and faced me. It took just a could seconds longer than it should have to realize he was talking about me and not Ava. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Think about it. This past winter was one of the driest winters on record. We got, like, six inches of snow all season. Long-term forecasts didn¡¯t have us getting any snow after¡ªguess when?¡±

    I tried to remember when it last snowed. ¡°Um¡­¡±

    ¡°The night of February 6<sup>th</sup>. The next day wasn¡¯t anything special, but the eighth and ninth were scorchers at close to sixty each. Which meant that all the snow would be gone just in time for the tenth, when they led their first attack.¡±

    ¡°So they structured this to have as many snowless days they could get,¡± I said.

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Yoru replied, bridging his fingers. He leaned in just a touch. ¡°They¡¯re trying to get data on our movements to see if they can track you and assassinate you before winter rolls around again, because as soon as there¡¯s snow on the ground, they¡¯re fucked.¡±

    ¡°So¡­if I just went home and stayed there until December and came out then, we could have this wrapped up in a few weeks, right?¡±

    Yoru shrugged. ¡°Not necessarily. See¡ªand Bell talked about this with Loybol a while back¡ªone of the issues is that the actual Radiant compound is pretty hard to defend. There¡¯s a decent-sized town very close by that we don¡¯t have agents in, so the enemy can just set up shop in an attic somewhere and take potshots at people as they go in and out of the factory and we¡¯d never which window they¡¯re sniping from. Hell¡ªthey could probably set up inside the factory and we wouldn¡¯t be able to find them before they could do some serious damage. Add the fact that all eight of us have to be out here trying to attack if we want to get anywhere seeing as we¡¯re vastly outnumbered and turtling in the factory is a great way to get stuck in a siege and starved, and you end up with a sticky situation.¡±

    I was glazing over a little bit at his description, which sat like a cannonball in the back of my head. ¡°Why does everyone get to go on a mission with Bell except me?¡±

    Benji cut in. ¡°That¡¯s intentional, actually,¡± he said. ¡°We try not to put you, Loybol, or Bell together in pairs all that often because of how bad it would be if two of the three got assassinated at once. We still do it occasionally, but less often than pure chance.¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Oh,¡± I said.

    I hadn¡¯t seen Bell in two months. Everyone had a story about interacting with her except me, and while I knew that it wasn¡¯t anything personal, it still stung like it was.

    ¡°Go on,¡± I said to Yoru.

    ¡°So after a week or so the New York gang would notice that you¡¯re not showing up anywhere, put two and two together, and set all their forces on breaking into the factory, which they would very easily be able to do. Since Prochazka allied with Loybol, and Loybol is in the field with us, capturing Prochazka only takes out half the leadership, and¡ªfrankly¡ªthe less important half, too. Loybol¡¯s probably an equal, maybe slightly worse strategist, but she¡¯s also an active combatant they have to worry about and Prochazka¡¯s not. Benji¡¯s also with us, and he can take over if Prochazka gets axed. The factory is a low-priority target, since it¡¯s unclear how much it would actually put a wrench in our plans, and none of the active agents killing the New York gang¡¯s people ever go there. If we lose Prochazka, it¡¯s bad but it¡¯s not the end of the war. If we lose you and Prochazka, we¡¯re boned.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d still have Bell and Loybol,¡± I said. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t just lose.¡±

    ¡°It would be pretty bad,¡± Yoru said. ¡°Figure of speech, whatever.¡±

    Ava stayed quiet. I suppose she¡¯d picked up on the idea that this meeting wasn¡¯t about her and made a point of not interfering.

    Benji nodded. ¡°Prochazka¡¯s much more powerful than I think any of you guys realize. He¡¯s been around the block. Having him as an active combatant is more of a backup plan than anything else. It¡¯s an option we break out if things get bad, but I know I¡¯d rather not have to do that.¡±

    I often wondered about how strong Prochazka actually was. I¡¯d heard a few of his war stories, and Benji would occasionally repeat stories other GIs had told him from way back when, but I had never personally seen him in action beyond little trinket things, like turning pages of a book with a wisp of wind.

    But if the stories were true¡ªand if his old war nickname was justified¡ªthe man could throw hurricanes at people and laugh while he was doing it.

    ¡°So¡­what should I do?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting to that,¡± Yoru said. ¡°The bottom line is that the enemy doesn¡¯t think they can win a winter war with us. It¡¯s putting us in an awkward situation. I¡¯m not sure we could withstand an all-out assault if they found out you weren¡¯t here¡ªI mean, Bell can only be in so many places at once as far as I know¡ªbut having you in the field is also, explicitly, a risk. We think they¡¯re basically just going for the head. Luckily, our scramble-strategy with the small groups is keeping them from meaningfully tracking any individual one of us, so basically they¡¯re just hoping they get lucky. We think. We don¡¯t really know, honestly, and we¡¯re so hilariously outnumbered that there¡¯s not a ton we can really do about it.¡±

    Benji took that as his cue to jump in. ¡°This is a lot to take in, but not a lot of it is all that important to you, personally. All you need to know is that they¡¯re gunning for you harder than they¡¯re gunning for anyone else. But I think you knew that already, right?¡±

    It certainly hadn¡¯t felt that way. I hadn¡¯t felt like anyone was being targeted in particular. But, looking back on it in that moment, it seemed like a valid strategy.

    ¡°I think so,¡± I said.

    Benji pursed his lips. He paused for a moment, letting the words roll around his skull before he spoke. ¡°Here¡¯s the catch. We don¡¯t know what the enemy¡¯s internal forces look like. We know Loybol¡¯s got a bunch of telepaths on her payroll that she uses to keep track of things in Hinterland, and I think it¡¯s safe to assume that the New York gang has something similar. Most magical policing forces in major metro areas have similar local setups. This means that¡ªthat you getting captured represents a far bigger blow to us than you getting shot.¡±

    ¡°Because¡ª¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re extremely easy to mind-control,¡± Benji said.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    To be fair to myself, that hadn¡¯t ever been tested. No telepath had explicitly tried to get into my head¡ªEsther tried to, very briefly, when she visited the factory way back when, but Bell told her to knock it off and she did. I wasn¡¯t in any actual danger then, despite what we might¡¯ve thought at the time.

    What I did know was that Esther found it very easy to find me whenever we needed to be remotely briefed on something, and that¡ªby her own admission¡ªit was really easy to get into my head. I couldn¡¯t ever speak back to her because I had no idea how to interface with a telepath. It might sound like it¡¯s easy to converse with an alien voice in your own head¡ªjust speak to it like you¡¯d talk to yourself¡ªbut it¡¯s not that simple. You don¡¯t know where the voice is coming from. You don¡¯t know where to direct the words to. There¡¯s a partitioning system that naturally occurs in people¡¯s heads, apparently, and I have no idea how to access any parts of it, or what¡¯s stored where, or how to hide anything, or how to show anything specific.

    I panicked as soon as Esther¡¯s voice hit me, every time. That¡¯s why she had to preface anything she said with re-assurance. I couldn¡¯t even begin to say how I¡¯d defend against that kind of thing.

    The wording of being ¡°weak to telepaths¡± is a coded phrase, I knew. I wasn¡¯t stupid. I might have been easy to read, and easy to rattle, but I¡¯m not an unintelligent human being. I know enough to know that being ¡°weak to telepaths¡± is just a nice way of saying I¡¯m mentally unstable. It would be nice to say that it¡¯s not a weakness, it¡¯s just a difference¡ªbut the fact that Esther always chose to brief me instead of whoever I was with because I was easier to enter from a safe distance is hard to construct as anything other than a weakness.

    I wasn¡¯t even sure how I would go about repairing that hole. Was there a drug I could take that would make me less prone to being prodded? Could I go to a doctor and get a prescription? Is that what Adderall or Ritalin or whatever would do for me?

    I didn¡¯t know, and I never got the opportunity to find out. Maybe Ava could help, but I sincerely doubted she¡¯d know where to start, and I wouldn¡¯t know where to start explaining to problem to her, and¡ªat the end of the day¡ªI just didn¡¯t think she cared enough about me to risk making it worse.

    I have too many unmarked buttons in my head to have someone start pushing them at random.

    I did not envy our leadership. Having to plan a war around me sounded like a nightmare.

    Benji cleared his throat. ¡°To be clear,¡± he said, ¡°this isn¡¯t a problem with the way you¡¯re wired. I think this might be something you can fix with time, help, and maybe a drug or two. But we don¡¯t really have the resources to make that happen now, so we just have to plan around it.¡±

    ¡°What is there to plan around?¡± I asked him, quietly.

    I clasped my hands together over my lap and lost my ability to make eye contact with either of them. I tried¡ªbelieve me¡ªbut my willpower had drained down out of my throat sometime in the last few words, dissolved in my stomach, and could not be retrieved again.

    A few people walked around us, either leaving a table or going to one. I didn¡¯t know. Since Benji started speaking, I realized I¡¯d stopped paying attention to my surroundings, and for a second I became aware of myself in the center of an endless, bottomless pit. Not falling, not rising, not moving anywhere in any direction¡ªno matter how hard I tried to swim or walk or jump. There was no solid ground to put my feet on. No liquid to push through. There were no chains around me¡ªI was perfectly free to attempt to move in any direction I chose.

    A suspension in pitch darkness.

    ¡°Erika,¡± Benji said, and I blinked and breathed and forced the droplets out again, and found objects¡ªa fence, a table, a few people¡ªand slowly I put the world back together, piece by piece. Colorless forms in an empty world. Objects revealed by shape and texture alone. Metal chairs with rusted, peeled paint bits on their bottoms. Strangers sitting around tables, talking, their mouths opening and closing, contorting for words, the moisture in and around them flashing hard and angry, like strobe-lights, in my perception.

    Living people in a world without color.

    I closed my mouth tight. It was too late to mourn what I¡¯d lost. I had my window for that and it was gone now. There would never again be another chance, because I knew deep down in the core of my soul that still burned with fragments of colors that I was going to die here, in the service of saving the world, and that was okay.

    It was the contract I signed by letting Prochazka save me. It was the ultimate end I marched toward.

    This, surely, was simply a part of the process. It would happen and roll off me. Time would go on and I would march.

    I knew I would. I had already done this once before.

    ¡°Erika,¡± Benji said, again. His hand lay open on the table and I took it, instinctively, and let the warmth from it color him in what I remembered of red.

    Of red like the base of a fire. Like dawn.

    ¡°Erika, you¡¯re not going to like this, but if it comes down to it, it might be the only thing that saves the world.¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond. All I did was angle my face toward him, so he knew I was trying to look him in the eyes¡ªbut he knew that wasn¡¯t something I could actually do anymore. In my head I¡¯d conceptualized this movement as the same as making eye contact, but¡ªlike writing with a pen that has no ink¡ªit was a symbolic gesture and nothing more. I¡¯d always wanted it to mean something that it never quite could. A bare facsimile of the real motion.

    He looked me in the eyes and nothing stared back at him. It was blank. Devoid of life, devoid of meaning. Pupils inside irises over corneas. Attached by a bundle of nerves to a brain that couldn¡¯t make sense of it all.

    Nothing, nothing.

    Benji said to me, ¡°Erika, if the enemy ever captures you, if you can¡¯t fight your way out¡ªI need you to kill yourself.¡±

    0              0              0

    I did what I do best.

    I chose not to think about it.

 55 - Freedom From Fear (1) [May 21st, Age 14]

    ¡°You know, your birthday¡¯s coming up,¡± Cygnus said to me.

    I hadn¡¯t thought about my birthday in so long¡ªnot since the last one, anyway. Sometime in the last year I had become an ageless being, who did not iterate the years one by one but just let them roll over her in one continuous stream. I was as old as anyone said I was.

    Now, though¡ª

    ¡°What day is it today?¡± I asked.

    ¡°The twenty-first,¡± Cygnus replied. ¡°Of May.¡±

    I frowned. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªwhat, three weeks?¡±

    ¡°Something like that.¡±

    We were returning to our camp. Our intel regarding the most recent hole was bad. I personally hadn¡¯t flushed a hole with actual enemy combatants in it in two or three weeks, which amounted to twelve duds in a row.

    Most of us were in that boat. It was starting to seem like the number of actual holes was tapering off¡ªor the enemy was changing their strategy.

    We weren¡¯t sure yet.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m going to do anything,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not like it¡¯s a big milestone or anything.¡±

    ¡°No Quinceanera?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Never mind,¡± Cygnus said, crossing his arms behind his head and stretching. ¡°Still, fifteen¡¯s something, at least. It¡¯s a step.¡±

    Sometime in the past week, the leaves had come in on the trees. I couldn¡¯t say exactly when it happened, but the world went from barren and spikey to soft and rounded and full of life in the span of a couple days. With the way I was now, that period was even more striking: trees in winter felt like the skeletons of giants, rough and hard and jagged in every direction, but in late May, the droplets could weave between the fresh, moist leaves and pass along and almost through them like fur¡ªlike the skeletons had put on coats. I felt like I missed that transition-window every year¡ªone week, it¡¯s dead, the next, it¡¯s alive, although I suppose I had more of an excuse to miss it now.

    It hadn¡¯t been cold in a while, not since April. To an outsider, it would look like things were trending up¡ªbut we were squarely out of range of a freak snowfall giving us a chance to break the war wide open. Rumors I¡¯d heard¡ªfrom eavesdropping on other peoples¡¯ small-talk and from the news¡ªseemed to point to this being a dry summer. I could make do, of course, but I couldn¡¯t help but read that as an omen¡ªnot strictly bad, but a distinctly lukewarm one. It didn¡¯t make me any more hopeful, for sure.

    Cygnus and I had been assigned to flush a hole in Harriman, which was some fifty miles away from New York City. There wasn¡¯t all that much there and both of us knew it, so neither of us were surprised when the intel was bad and we¡¯d wasted a whole day.

    ¡°That¡¯s twelve,¡± I said to him, afterward.

    ¡°Twelve whats?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Dud holes.¡±

    ¡°Geez,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m at¡­¡± Cygnus paused, counting the days on his fingers. ¡°One in ten? It¡¯s only been three in a row for me but it was six in a row before that.¡±

    ¡°Hopefully Loybol¡¯s got a plan,¡± I said.

    ¡°She should.¡±

    We continued out walk toward the meeting point, which was a small ice cream stand on the main street. It was set off a bit from the road, but it had outdoor seating and I had a couple dollars in my pocket for a treat, so I couldn¡¯t complain. A little bit of ice cream went a long way toward turning a medium-to-bad day into a medium-to-good one.

    When you don¡¯t get to stay in any particular place for longer than a day or so, you gain a larger appreciation for the small things.

    As we walked up to the stand¡ªa house-like building up on a small hill with a deck that wrapped around the left side¡ªI found Loybol and someone whose shape I didn¡¯t recognize sitting next to her, another woman of around the same size. She was wearing a tank-top even though it was only sixty degrees and had hair that was a little longer than Loybol¡¯s, and that was as far as I got before her image suddenly blanked out of my perception, and Loybol¡¯s head turned to face roughly where I was.

    I was so startled I physically stopped walking. We were far out of earshot, and Loybol hadn¡¯t seen us walk up yet. We¡¯d barely entered the ice cream stand¡¯s parking lot, and the corner of the building¡ªI think¡ªblocked us from view for at least another step or two. Loybol couldn¡¯t actually see me, although Cygnus had kept walking for a few steps and he had definitely crossed the sight-line as I visualized it.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Loybol made some gesture to the woman she was sitting with and stood up, walking around the corner and down the steps to meet us. She waved, and after a bit of hesitation I did too.

    I tried to put more droplets around the woman she was with, but no matter what I did I couldn¡¯t get a solid picture of her. She might¡¯ve just been a chair for all I knew.

    The only conclusion I could draw from that was that she knew I was trying to find her, could feel the droplets, and was intentionally scrambling them to mess with me.

    Loybol pointed at Cygnus and then stuck a thumb behind herself; Cygnus nodded and jogged up toward the steps to meet the mystery woman, which left me alone with the approaching Loybol in the parking lot.

    Once she was close enough to speak to me at a normal volume, she said, ¡°Hello again.¡±

    ¡°Hi.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s it going out there?¡±

    ¡°Not all that well.¡±

    I craned my neck around her to try and get a better vantage toward the mystery woman even though it didn¡¯t make a difference¡ªbut Loybol said my name and stopped me. Around where I had spotted her was an egg-shaped area of absolutely zero humidity. Any droplet that went near that zone instantly disappeared.

    She was, for all intents and purposes, invisible.

    ¡°Who is that?¡± I asked her. Forcing my voice even to the point of a monotone¡ªto the point where it was more of a statement than a question.

    ¡°That¡¯s why I came over here to meet you,¡± she said. ¡°And why I sent Cygnus ahead as a distraction. That¡¯s Eliza. She¡¯s my general enforcer that I brought along to help us out with the war effort.¡±

    Loybol turned back for a second and glanced at the egg-shaped void in the air, which¡ªI guessed¡ªwas now talking to Cygnus. ¡°If I was in charge of making team composition here, and we weren¡¯t forced to make these random, I wouldn¡¯t have put the two of you together. but anything loosely resembling a pattern can and will be used against us and that includes the fact that the two of you haven¡¯t been on a team together yet. I don¡¯t think you two are a good fit for each other. In fact, I think you might be the worst fit we could possibly make¡ª¡±

    I was only half-listening. Sometime during her talk, I decided with renewed vigor to try and figure out what this person looked like at any cost, if only to show off that I wasn¡¯t afraid of her, lest that be used against me, too.

    There was a spot of cold moisture in front of the egg-shaped void that I assumed was a bowl of ice cream. I was about to ruin her cup to make a point when Loybol said, ¡°Erika. Pay attention.¡±

    I blinked and snapped back to my spot. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Her name is Eliza. Don¡¯t speak to her unless it¡¯s business-related. Okay?¡±

    I swallowed hard. Blood drained from my face¡ªand again, for the fourth time, I felt the contours of that oval hole in space that the entity called Eliza inhabited. That she¡¯d put herself in, surely, just to screw with me.

    The initial reaction I had was just a gut thing. A bit of my primordial lizard-brain panicking. But the second one was sustained. It didn¡¯t stop when I acknowledged it.

    I was just scared. Nobody had ever done that before¡ªand this was the second time in a month or so I¡¯d been called out for trying to see someone. It was enough to make me worry backwards through every single time I¡¯d ever tried to read a facial expression.

    I¡¯ve always tried to be discrete, but¡­

    ¡°This probably isn¡¯t going to be fun for you,¡± Loybol said, ¡°but if we don¡¯t do this at least once in a while, it¡¯s ammo for them to reverse-engineer our team structures, and then they can target the weaker groups and start picking us off. So just tolerate this for one day. Okay?¡±

    And again I tried to get in there. Tried to crack the shell.

    And, again, I could not.

    Then I gave up.

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I mumbled.

    0??0??0

    I tried not to look terrified as I sat down across from her at the table, but I have no idea how well I accomplished that.

    Eliza¡¯s first words to me were, ¡°Cheer up, Erika, I¡¯m not that dangerous.¡±

    Cygnus licked his cone. ¡°Like fuck you aren¡¯t.¡±

    I had no idea what¡¯d been said between the two in the handful of seconds during Loybol¡¯s talk with me, but its results were obvious enough.

    Eliza gave Cygnus a side-glance and a halfhearted shrug. ¡°Not that it matters much now,¡± she said.

    Loybol pulled out her chair and took a seat across from Cygnus, to my left. She had her own cone, although it was upside-down in a cup, which for some reason I found just as surprising as the books she liked.

    I¡¯m not sure why it came as such a shock to me that Loybol was a person, too. What was it about her that made me decide she was something else¡ªsomething more like Bell; something more like a force of nature than a person? Like an earthquake or a hurricane¡ªsomething with power but without desire.

    The umbroids, maybe, but I¡¯d seen time and time again how little they shaped her. Being with her now, I¡¯d never know that she was further from human than anyone I¡¯d ever known.

    She picked up the cone, took a few licks, and I wondered.

    ¡°What flavor is that?¡± I asked her.

    Loybol glanced down at it¡ªthe moisture over her eyeballs moved downward¡ªand back at me. ¡°Strawberry,¡± she said.

    ¡°That sounds nice,¡± I said.

    I¡¯d done a cursory feel-over at the stand¡¯s front to see if there was anything I could read, but all I found were blank slabs. The flavors must have been printed flush with the material they were on. I could have asked the cashier what the flavors were, but I never seriously entertained that as an option.

    It was there, I knew, but it also wasn¡¯t.

    Cygnus caught me turning. Force of habit still had me looking at things, even though it didn¡¯t do anything to turn my perception. ¡°Do you want something?¡±

    ¡°Um¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll read you the flavors,¡± he said.

    Loybol grimaced, put her cone down. ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± she said. ¡°Do you have a go-to?¡±

    ¡°A what?¡±

    ¡°A flavor you always get.¡± She had money in her hand now, and it was only then that I bothered to look underneath her chair to find that she was carrying a purse. How long had she had that?

    Purses seemed wildly impractical to me. Nobody I knew had one.

    ¡°Cookies and cream?¡± I tried.

    ¡°Sure,¡± she said, and she got up and went to the window to get one for me.

    We fell into silence. Loybol told me not to talk to Eliza and I wasn¡¯t about to disobey a direct order, especially when she was already doing something for me.

    ¡°Small?¡± Loybol called, poking her head from around the corner.

    ¡°Small,¡± I said back to her.

    She gave a thumbs-up and went back to the window.

 56 - Freedom From Fear (2) [May 21st, Age 14]

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

 57 - Freedom From Fear (3) [May 21st, Age 14]

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

 58 - Sin Vault (1) [June 8th, Age 14]

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

 59 - Sin Vault (2) [June 8th, Age 14]

    So, as discussed, it fell to me to explain the situation to Benji and Loybol. Our meeting place was just a park bench in the town¡¯s central green area, and even from a distance I could feel the concern across them as I approached, alone.

    The two sat on opposite sides of a park bench, and to avoid suspicion they told me to sit between them. They could pass for my parents, they figured, so they were going to lean on that since this was a public place.

    So I sat there and instinctively made myself small.

    Loybol spoke first. ¡°Where¡¯s Yoru?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s fine,¡± I said. ¡°We have a prisoner.¡±

    Benji¡¯s face loosened considerably. ¡°Oh, good. That¡¯s great, actually. How did you guys get one of these people to surrender?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I replied. Not looking at either of them¡ªspeaking mainly to my own feet. ¡°We came into the room he was in and he was kneeling on his desk with his hands up, and he surrendered.¡±

    ¡°So Yoru¡¯s alone with him?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    I was going to say more¡ªI had it all planned¡ªbut the words got trapped in my throat and died. I couldn¡¯t scrape them up.

    Loybol nodded. ¡°Good work, Erika.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t really do anything,¡± I said, quietly.

    I wasn¡¯t really there. I was with Pete, still, and I was still standing over his shoulder, trying to read his letter.

    Loybol looked down at me and said, ¡°You did good. You weren¡¯t supposed to do anything.¡±

    ¡°He wants us to kill him,¡± I blurted. ¡°He told me. I said we could bring him up through Canada and he could get away from all of this and he told me he didn¡¯t want that.¡±

    That gave Loybol a bit of pause. ¡°He wants to die?¡±

    I nodded. I¡¯d said too much already, even though I¡¯d said the bare minimum to get my point across.

    ¡°But he also wants to be a prisoner,¡± she went on. ¡°That¡¯s odd. It¡¯s¡ªnot much of a conventional surrender, anyway. What else did he say?¡±

    I was thinking about the letter again. I wanted him to read it to me, even though that was a gross violation of his privacy. I wanted to know what was in it¡ªwhat was so important to tell them that he¡¯d spend his last moments composing it. It was probably just words of encouragement to his family, saying he loved them, and so on. Things like that. It was nothing that would mean anything to me. Nothing that would be about me in any way¡ªbut I wanted to hear it all the same.

    Just to know, and nothing more.

    ¡°Erika?¡± Loybol asked again.

    I snapped to attention. ¡°Um¡ªhe seemed really sad. He was writing a letter to his family that we¡¯re supposed to deliver, um, to them after we kill him.¡±

    Loybol nodded, slowly. ¡°We can do that. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°They tell the soldiers things about us,¡± I said. ¡°Stuff designed to make them hate us, except apparently it¡¯s just all true things we¡¯ve actually done. Everyone I¡¯ve talked to that¡¯s mentioned it always has something to say about how it all turned out to be true.¡±

    I trailed off a bit towards the end. I had more to say, I think, but I forgot.

    Loybol did not react to that, but Benji covered for her. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s pretty standard practice. Prochazka and I had to put up with that shit all the time back in the day.¡±

    ¡°But those were lies,¡± I said.

    ¡°Did he say what they told him?¡±

    I droned off what I remembered. ¡°None of us have families, so they shouldn¡¯t feel bad about shooting to kill. Our strongest soldier is a fourteen-year-old girl who doesn¡¯t know any better. Bell exists.¡±

    That last one wasn¡¯t technically something he said, but it would¡¯ve been if Bell was there. The lines about Bell wrote themselves. I wasn¡¯t sure there was a single true thing you could say about Bell that wasn¡¯t a stone¡¯s throw from being a psychopath bent on world domination.

    Benji shrugged. ¡°Well, those are all true. Except Bell existing, jury¡¯s out on that. Also, I had an older sister who I kept in contact with until she died a few years back, so that¡¯s at least a lie for me. I don¡¯t think anyone else in Unit 6 has any relatives, right?¡±

    ¡°I have a dad,¡± I said, quietly.

    ¡°Do you, really?¡± Benji replied, and I couldn¡¯t really argue with that. It was the closest thing to an understanding we¡¯d ever had and I wasn¡¯t about to ruin it with extra words.

    Loybol wasn¡¯t paying attention to us. She was still stuck in the idea of this guy being a double-agent martyr. When she stood up, I thought she was going to share the results of her pondering, but she didn¡¯t. All she said instead was, ¡°Let¡¯s go. We shouldn¡¯t leave Yoru alone for too long.¡±

    ¡°Pete¡¯s got nothing,¡± I said, barely above a whisper

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t necessarily mean he¡¯s not dangerous,¡± she said. ¡°There are ways you can be dangerous without magic or a gun.¡±

    So we set off back toward the hole¡ªBenji, Loybol, and somewhere down there, me.

    0??0??0

    Loybol took point with the plan, and Benji filled in bits here and there. We were going to take the guy out of the hole to an open place where Yoru and I could keep track of the air to see if anyone was coming up near us while Loybol and Benji received the info.

    And then, well, we were going to play it by ear. I asked Loybol, point-blank, if she was going to kill him like he wanted, and she didn¡¯t answer me. Benji took the question instead, and he said the plan was to wait and see.

    I wasn¡¯t sure when exactly they¡¯d had this conversation. Was I so deep in thought at one point that they¡¯d talked around me and I hadn¡¯t noticed? Or were they just whispering to each other as they walked in front for the first half of the trip back?

    I suppose that I wasn¡¯t really there, so it didn¡¯t matter much.

    We went back into that basement and found Yoru munching some chips while he talked to¡ªor at, more accurately¡ªPete about something or other. A TV show they¡¯d both seen, apparently.

    Pete, to his credit, looked like he was listening. I sent some droplets over to his desk and found the sheet of paper with the tiny indents still there, the ink dried now, and before I could stop myself, I instinctively tried to read just one word¡ªjust a fragment to show that I could¡ªbut it was too far and the angle was off, so I got the page a bit wet over that word accidentally.

    Pete looked over at me, folded the page in half, and put it underneath a book so I couldn¡¯t feel it.

    ¡°You two must be Benji and Loybol,¡± Pete said, as they walked in. ¡°I didn¡¯t really think so many of you would be in the area.¡± He¡¯d warmed up since we¡¯d captured him. Yoru had softened him, somehow, maybe with just a lot of aggressive small-talk. That made me feel a lot better about the way we¡¯d¡ªI¡¯d, really¡ªplanned this out. Leaving Yoru here was the right call by far.

    So I took that to heart as a job well done.

    ¡°We meet up and switch off partners,¡± Benji said. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you know.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Pete said. He almost had a semblance of a smile¡ªlike he knew this was the right thing to do¡ªbut then he looked at Loybol, and it evaporated.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± Loybol said. ¡°We¡¯re going to question you outside.¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Pete swallowed hard. More than just saliva, I was sure. Loybol was all business now. I¡¯d seen this before, back when Bell and I met with her in the Utica outpost. When I¡¯d met Loybol for the first time.

    I knew it tended not to end well for anyone on the receiving end of her.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Pete said. And he was just as scared as he was when we came in. It all turned real, in that instant, and he knew that no matter what he said or did there was no turning back. Again he was marked for death. The future was a foregone conclusion.

    There was no force in his arms as he stood up and drifted between us¡ªin front of me and Yoru but behind Loybol and Benji. He moved like a limp kite. Did he know this day was coming? Did he know, when he signed the employment contract with the New York gang God knew how long ago, that this was in his future? Could he see this day? No, obviously, he couldn¡¯t¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t imagine a world where he didn¡¯t have some kind of premonition of this in his days to come. A day in which four unknowable beings escort him out of a cave into the afterlife, after draining him of all his knowledge. A memory-vacant husk to discard when we were done¡ªa human dust-form with nothing to call its own, blown away in the early summer breeze.

    This may have been the most important thing Pete had ever done.

    0??0??0

    The hole was a bunker outside a crumbling house on the outskirts of a town whose name I¡¯ve since forgotten. It was only about a mile away from the park I¡¯d met Loybol and Benji in, but it felt like it was halfway across the world. We sat cross-legged in a square around Pete¡ªYoru and I behind, with him facing his true captors.

    It was a gorgeous day, the perfect temperature. The air was a little dry, but I did my best. I assumed Yoru had the scouting covered, since my whole droplet-bouncing echolocation thing is essentially just a pale, bootleg imitation of what air-keys do normally. I could only imagine that the sky was blue and the grass was green and nothing had ever gone wrong, anywhere, in the whole wide world.

    Everything was exactly as at should be. All things in their rightful places.

    So I leaned back and turned my head to the warm place and pretended I was here alone.

    Benji had a small object in his hand that wasn¡¯t quite phone-shaped but I assumed was some kind of device to record Pete¡¯s obituary with. Loybol gestured to him and he pressed something on it.

    ¡°State your name for the recording,¡± Loybol said.

    ¡°My name is Pete,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m choosing not to share my last name. It¡¯s on the letter in the bunker if you need it later. But I don¡¯t want it to be a part of this recording.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Because if you guys lose, and this recording falls into my employer¡¯s hands, they could use it as evidence to track my family down. There¡¯s a lot of guys who sound like me. In fact, I¡¯m trying to speak with a slightly different voice than normal right now to hide it. It¡¯s not a foolproof safety measure but it¡¯s all I can do.¡±

    ¡°Is Pete your real first name?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°My real name is on the letter in the bunker. I won¡¯t say it in this recording.¡±

    This all seemed rehearsed. Maybe he hasn¡¯t been listening to Yoru at all, and he¡¯d just spent that time dreaming up how he was going to spill the beans in the safest possible way.

    Loybol considered that response for a moment and found it satisfactory. ¡°Okay. That¡¯s fine. Who is your immediate superior?¡±

    ¡°His name is Sal. All the managers, all the people above our rank, have a designation they¡¯re supposed to use to hide their identities from you guys and us, but Sal thought that was stupid, and he hated his designation, so he had us use his real name. His designation was Pine, I think. All the people who manage individual holes have trees or flowers as their designation.¡±

    ¡°How many other hole managers do you know?¡±

    ¡°None. We¡¯re not supposed to know who they are.¡±

    ¡°Where is Sal?¡±

    ¡°He never visits. He manages completely remotely. All the managers control four holes each, anyway, so he wouldn¡¯t have time. All I really know is that he orders a specific pizza so often that his local place put it on the menu and named it after him. You can probably use that to track him down. Sal should¡¯ve told them not to do it, but he¡¯s not the brightest. I know for a fact his managers don¡¯t like him because of that, but you can¡¯t exactly interview replacements in this kind of work without getting a telepath to mind-wipe the previous person or having them killed, and HQ doesn¡¯t like killing people that don¡¯t need to die.¡±

    ¡°Really.¡±

    ¡°Yes. We¡¯re not supposed to be in the line of fire. The fact that your main plan involves blowing up all our local magical-tracking stations has got people scrambling. Not because it¡¯s actually useful in terms of you getting any relevant information, but because it¡¯s stopping the arms of our organization that are still trying to do their normal jobs. You know, policing petty magical crime. They can¡¯t do their jobs. Sal described it as having your mail delivered to a neighbor¡¯s house across town and then driving to go get it. Sure, the government doesn¡¯t know where you live, but who actually cares?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand.¡±

    ¡°Neither do I. Sal is a weird, suspicious guy. He didn¡¯t trust anything or anyone.¡±

    ¡°Okay. And I¡¯m assuming Sal knows more about the real hierarchy of your organization than you do?¡±

    ¡°Definitely.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a better lead than we¡¯ve ever had. So...thank you for that.¡±

    Loybol pursed her lips, then gestured to Benji to shut off the recording.

    ¡°You¡¯re off the record now,¡± she said. ¡°I have a personal question for you. I¡¯m fairly certain you¡¯re not wearing a psychic wire, so I just want to ask you this personally.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Pete said.

    ¡°Why?¡± Loybol asked. ¡°Why surrender?¡±

    Pete frowned. ¡°Can I speak freely?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Do you know how many people you¡¯ve killed in this operation so far?¡±

    Loybol grimaced for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t know the exact number off-hand, no.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Pete said. ¡°It¡¯s a hundred and thirty-seven. Assuming that¡¯s split fairly evenly between the eight of you in the field, that¡¯s¡­about seventeen a head. Which means you people have forced a literal child to murder seventeen people.¡±

    I didn¡¯t feel particularly forced, but I figured that wasn¡¯t a relevant point of distinction.

    ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡± Benji interjected.

    ¡°How many of those people, do you think, actually knew anything about anyone worth a damn?¡±

    Neither Loybol nor Benji could come up with a response for that before Pete finished. ¡°One. Me. That number I gave includes me, by the way. Which, to add on, means you¡¯ve forced a literal child to murder seventeen people for no reason.¡±

    I did wonder, however, what would happen to me if I refused. If, just once, I said I wasn¡¯t going to do it. Just to see what would happen.

    Would Loybol still trust me?

    ¡°So this is a last-ditch emotional appeal to try and get us to back off,¡± Loybol said, flatly. ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°No, that¡¯s not it. Would I have helped you if that was the case?¡±

    ¡°That stuff about Sal could¡¯ve been a lie.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t lie to you. Killing me after this is a mercy, which I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve¡ªyou¡¯ve already figured out. I can¡¯t risk the chance you¡¯ll leave me alone here to be collected. They tell us, in training, about a place called the sin vault. It¡¯s a throwaway line in the main training manual with a punchy name designed to make us wonder. My brother works in marketing, so I¡¯m familiar with the concept. They don¡¯t tell us what it is, but they do tell us when someone¡¯s been sent there. And¡ªand when they¡¯ve come back. So I don¡¯t know what it is, specifically, but I know it¡¯s some kind of emotional torture pit. Did you know that HQ has an extensive research and development arm?¡±

    Loybol pursed her lips. ¡°Do they.¡±

    I suppose I just chose not to think about those things. I had more important matters to attend to. Those concerns got locked away; I couldn¡¯t devote thought-space to them. I couldn¡¯t before the war, and I thought I¡¯d have time now, but I didn¡¯t.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you do, too,¡± Pete said.

    ¡°I may or may not have one.¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s the deal,¡± Pete said, and he looked down from Loybol. He couldn¡¯t meet her eyes anymore. ¡°I¡¯m helping you because I think you¡¯re the lesser of two evils, and you¡¯ve literally forced a child to murder seventeen people. I don¡¯t know what happens in the sin vault, and I don¡¯t know exactly what the R&D group does at HQ, but I know that the two things are related. I didn¡¯t really know what I was getting into, here, but¡ªif I have to make an emotional appeal¡ªI want to say to you, directly, to stop going after the people in the holes. They don¡¯t know anything. They¡¯re just trying to do their jobs, and their jobs aren¡¯t even dangerous or evil. They¡¯re doing good work. Please just¡ªdo whatever you have to do to make Sal talk.¡± Pete squeezed his eyes shut. ¡°And then follow the ladder up. There are real, evil people in this place, but the people in holes aren¡¯t them. They¡¯re innocent.¡±

    And, after a single exhalation, Pete finished: ¡°And please¡ªgive that letter to my family, when you see them. They deserve to know. The contents of the letter aren¡¯t anything grand. It¡¯s essentially what I just told you. I want them to know that I tried to help. I did my best, but¡ªit turned out that I just didn¡¯t really understand the problem. I jumped into this and I didn¡¯t know who the players were. I took this job and I didn¡¯t understand the scope or the scale. And this, this is the best I can do now. This is helping, it¡¯s got to be.¡±

    And Pete sighed. ¡°Okay. Okay. I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m ready.¡±

    He opened his eyes, looked at Loybol, and then squeezed them shut again. ¡°Please make it fast. Don¡¯t do a countdown. Just do it.¡±

    Loybol looked over at him, then reached with an open palm to the ground. From among the grass, with a barely audible hiss, rose a cloud of fine dust.

    She stood, walked over to him slowly. One step in front of the other. On her other hand was something running across her fingertips; something lumpy that I assumed was a bit of extra dirt. She was going to shove this dust through Pete¡¯s head and disintegrate his flesh, as I¡¯d heard she could do. It was instant death, and too fast for anyone to notice anything had happened. The extra dirt was for good measure, I figured.

    Loybol stood over the kneeling Pete, his eyes closed. Tears glimmering in the corner of his eyes.

    I took a single breath¡ª

    And Loybol dropped her other hand on his head, and Pete¡¯s scream was cut off by a choked gargling drool, and all at once I knew what was happening.

    I stood and tried to say something but the words died in my throat¡ª

    The umbroids drained from her fingertips, running into his ears, and inside there they cut through the soft flesh to his brain and I didn¡¯t want to know what happened after that.

    I didn¡¯t want to know. I didn¡¯t.

    I sat back down and turned around and put my fingers in my ears and pretended I wasn¡¯t here. I was somewhere else, somewhere with a blue sky and green grass where this never happened.

    Pete¡¯s scream was short, but his low gurgle went on for longer. No amount of pressure in my ears could block it. Yoru just watched, empty-faced. No expression at all.

    He¡¯d never seen this before, but I had. I knew what it was.

    And I wanted to ask her why¡ªwhy couldn¡¯t we have just killed him¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t.

    I wanted to ask Loybol why we kept killing these meaningless pawns, but I couldn¡¯t.

    I wanted to ask Loybol what her plan was, what the grand overarching plan for all of this was, but I couldn¡¯t.

    The machinations of my superiors were beyond my understanding. I couldn¡¯t waste time thinking about it. It was simply too much to bear alongside everything else. I took up too much of my own space to house someone else in my head, too.

    So I took this thing and I locked it away with everything else.

    I wanted to ask why I couldn¡¯t take it for what it was, but I couldn¡¯t.

 60 - Teardrop Two-Step (1) [June 11th, Age 15]

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

 61 - Teardrop Two-Step (2) [June 11th, Age 15]

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

 62 - Teardrop Two-Step (3) [June 11th, Age 15]

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

 63 - Teardrop Two-Step (4) [June 11th, Age 15]

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

 64 - Teardrop Two-Step (5) [June 11th, Age 15]

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

 65 - Teardrop Two-Step (6) [June 11th, Age 15]

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

 66 - Teardrop Two-Step (7) [June 11th, Age 15]

    ¡°Did you get them?¡± Bell asked me¡ªher voice came from somewhere above and next to me simultaneously, drifting through a fine net. The words slurred into each other even though I knew she was speaking normally.

    I nodded. Didn¡¯t trust myself to force words through my teeth¡ªbut as soon as I moved my neck I winced. Just that little shift of my head felt like the entire world slid into a wall.

    I tried not to move much. Gave Bell a limp thumbs-up instead.

    Bell made a small affirmatory noise and turned around. In the commotion both of the targets tried to separate themselves from Bell¡ªwith Sal almost at the door and Sally almost at the window.

    They didn¡¯t get far.

    Bell barely had to tense and both of them dropped again, legs unresponsive. She simply walked up to Sally¡ªwho was completely immobile except for her face¡ªand dragged her back into the dining room.

    The side of my head was warm. I hadn¡¯t noticed it before. Warm in the sense of heat, and also in the sense of a warm liquid¡ªblood? My blood.

    I shifted my hand up and cupped the spot. It was above my ear, below the crown of my head¡ªand yes, it was bleeding. My hair was clumping up there.

    I gingerly went to touch the wound¡ªan impulse everyone has¡ªand my whole head exploded into red fury so fast it made me lose the room again. I sucked in a breath and shoved it out and did it again and again until the pain had subsided enough for me to come back to where I was.

    ¡°¡­or you two are mush.¡±

    Esther was gone. The Bell I knew was standing in her place.

    So that was it for secrecy, I supposed.

    Bell continued, speaking down to the immobilized pair. ¡°I don¡¯t think either of you give enough of a shit about this organization to die for it, but you¡¯ve got one chance to prove me wrong. Either of you. Start talking. You know the questions. You¡¯ve been preparing for them your whole lives.¡±

    Sal did not speak. The agent got there first. ¡°There¡¯s a team of us. Six. One of them¡¯s dead already. Outside of the guy Erika shot. How the fuck did she get him from that far away?¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure if I was supposed to answer that. Was I supposed to crawl over there and be present? My name was called, anyway, but I wasn¡¯t confident I could get over there even if I tried.

    Step one would be getting off my back.

    ¡°I guess that explains that, then,¡± Sally said. ¡°She¡¯s the real deal, alright.¡±

    ¡°Explains what?¡± Bell asked.

    I could only imagine what she looked like in that moment. Fragments of memories back from a time when Bell was the most powerful thing in the world.

    She still is, isn¡¯t she? Nothing, really, has changed. Kingdoms of flesh are nothing to her.

    This war is unwinnable for them. Surely, now, they know. They never had a chance.

    ¡°Explains what?¡± Bell asked, again. Demanded. I heard the agent suck in a breath and I knew what was coming, but Bell had allowed the agent just the tiniest scrap of hand movement so she could tap the floor to make it stop¡ªand she did, so Bell stopped and let her talk.

    ¡°The plan,¡± Sally said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it is, but Erika¡¯s the only one we have orders to take in alive.¡±

    That confirmed it, then. I had my suspicions, but hearing it in the air¡ªdense and foamy as the words were through my swimming head¡ªchanged the way I thought about it.

    It changed a lot of things.

    ¡°Alive,¡± Bell echoed, and it echoed again in my hollow skull three times more. ¡°The rest of us, I suppose, you thought you could slaughter.¡±

    ¡°The rest of you we were supposed to kill,¡± Sally said, slowly. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Knowing full well it couldn¡¯t be done,¡± Bell said.

    ¡°Knowing full well,¡± she admitted back.

    ¡°They sent you on a suicide mission, then. I thought they might have.¡±

    ¡°The hope,¡± she said, without any semblance of such, ¡°was that the sniper would kill you, and then we¡¯d have time to knock out Erika or something before she could respond. The shock of it would paralyze her for just a second. I think that would¡¯ve worked, still. We put Wester a mile into the woods, and she still got him.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s gotten targets from a mile out before,¡± Bell said.

    ¡°That¡¯s fucked up,¡± the agent said, quietly.

    I was being talked about¡ªI had to be present.

    I tried to sit up, and even the tiniest head movement associated with simply starting to move was enough to put my whole existence into stars and force me down again.

    How long had it been since I¡¯d been hurt? Had I ever?

    The stone chunk¡ªor was it a metal one? It was cold, that was all I knew¡ªit ricocheted off something and hit me in the side of the head. I knew that much¡ªit was lying in the corner somewhere, with a scrap of my blood on it.

    It occurred to me, through a mask and filtered, that even for all my theatrics, I still almost died.

    And it also occurred to me that I saved Bell¡¯s life.

    It must have only glanced off me. Anything resembling a direct hit would¡¯ve crushed my skull for sure with the speed it was going.

    I breathed, slowly through my nose, trying not to inflate my lungs too much. Lying very still.

    There was no more breath coming from the agent. Bell must have taken her out while I was distracted. I went searching for her head and didn¡¯t find it¡ªthere was a misshapen pile of flesh and bone-shards there much like what I¡¯d turned the sniper¡ªWester?¡ªinto a mile outside.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Mouth shut tight. Don¡¯t think about the smell.

    ¡°You can tell us where your boss is, or I can put you into a more mobile container and take you to the real Esther, who will drag it out of you anyway.¡±

    And Sal said¡ªto his credit, still perfectly toneless, ¡°Is there any chance¡ªany at all¡ªthat I make it out of this house alive?¡±

    Bell paused. ¡°Depends how good your information is.¡±

    ¡°Take my phone,¡± Sal said. ¡°I¡¯ll shut off the lock-screen for you. It should have everything you¡¯d need on it. I¡¯ve been to my boss¡¯s place before. It¡¯ll be in the Maps history. The number¡¯s at 78, but I don¡¯t remember the street name¡ªshould be enough to find it, though.¡±

    His eyes flicked down to his jeans. ¡°I can¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t really move, so¡­¡±

    Bell crouched down and slipped her fingers into his pocket, pulling out the phone and dropping it onto his chest. ¡°I¡¯ll give you one hand so you can remove the lock from it.¡±

    She fulfilled her end and he did his.

    ¡°This¡¯ll have everything I need,¡± she said, looking at it. Standing again. ¡°Good. Anything more?¡±

    Sal paused. ¡°There¡¯s a layer of management above me that controls ground operations¡ªthat¡¯s the person you¡¯re looking for. Above her is the man himself.¡±

    ¡°And his name?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to ask my boss,¡± Sal said. ¡°I¡¯m just a small nothing. I don¡¯t know shit.¡±

    Bell shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s fine. A lead¡¯s a lead. Let me make sure this place is actually in your maps history before we part, hmm?¡±

    She turned his phone screen on¡ªand satisfied that there was no longer a lock screen¡ªwent into his maps app and looked for the last searched places.

    ¡°78 Gregor Road in White Plains?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the one,¡± he said. ¡°Weird building but there¡¯s not much in it.¡±

    She tapped the address and looked at the details of it. ¡°This is a plumbing company.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the front,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s a small building with a big basement. They normally keep an earth-key down there, since the whole thing¡¯s concrete. Incidentally, there¡ªthere actually is a plumber guy who works upstairs. He¡¯s innocent. He doesn¡¯t know anything. Literally just a plumber. Please don¡¯t kill him,¡± Sal said.

    For once¡ªnot deadpanned. He might¡¯ve meant that one.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Bell said, scrolling around the neighborhood.

    ¡°Give me your word,¡± Sal said, his voice suddenly hard. ¡°God. Fuck. Give your word that just this once, you won¡¯t.¡±

    Bell looked up from the phone¡ªor down, I suppose, given the scale¡ªand said quietly, ¡°What¡¯s it to you what I do or don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s just a fucking plumber,¡± Sal said. ¡°I got coffee with him last Tuesday. He¡¯s got a family. He knows weird shit happens in the basement but knows not to look and he doesn¡¯t. Dude doesn¡¯t know anything. He¡¯s just a random goddamn plumber. He doesn¡¯t even know about magic. God¡ªhe might be the only innocent one left. Please¡ªjust¡­whatever you do, tell him to get the fuck out before you knock the joint. Okay?¡±

    Bell frowned. ¡°Can¡¯t guarantee I¡¯ll be the one on this job.¡±

    ¡°Erika¡¯ll be there, right?¡± He tried to sit up to get a look at me¡ªpresumably¡ªand Bell slammed his head back down against the linoleum so hard I thought his skull cracked.

    ¡°Tell her,¡± Sal wheezed. His lungs weren¡¯t inflating right. Bell wouldn¡¯t let them.

    For half a second, Bell turned back toward me¡ªa nightmare silhouette in a shattered world.

    Then she looked back at Sal and said, ¡°I¡¯ll forward that to the relevant parties. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll going to put you to sleep now,¡± Bell said. ¡°A crew will come by and get you when they clean up this house. You¡¯ll be moved to a secure facility where Esther¡ªthe real one, not me¡ªwill scrub anything else relevant out of your head. It¡¯s not her first time, you¡¯ll be fine. After that we¡¯ll release you somewhere in upstate. You¡¯re not going to have much, but it¡¯s better than being dead, and it¡¯s better than being a part of this sinking ship. Those are the terms. Take it or leave it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± Sal said.

    ¡°Noted. Good night,¡± Bell said¡ªand with that, Sal¡¯s breathing slowed.

    Slower and slower and¡ª

    Bell was next to me. When did she get there?

    ¡°Erika¡ª¡±

    She was standing over me.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    It¡¯d been some time, right? I could try speaking.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m okay,¡± I said, but the words came out wide and soft. Pillowy.

    She moved slightly over to my left side, looking down near where my wound was. ¡°The cut¡¯s not all that deep,¡± she said. Laying her hand gently on my forehead, she added, ¡°Nothing¡¯s broken. You probably just have a concussion.¡±

    ¡°A¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to be out for a little while. Prochazka¡¯s probably got a protocol for this. I¡¯ll give him a call on our way back to the motel. For now¡ªcan you stand?¡±

    ¡°My head hurts,¡± I mumbled.

    ¡°I know,¡± Bell said. ¡°But you¡¯re not in any extreme danger. For now, we¡¯ve got to get back home before the clean-up crew gets here. I¡¯ll help you stand. Okay?¡±

    I took a breath. Deep, this time¡ªand it hurt, it did, but it was okay.

    I was going to be fine.

    Bell took my arm and pulled me upright, and even though my legs didn¡¯t quite catch at first, she held me up.

    We stood there in the wreckage of the dining room, silent for a moment.

    ¡°Did the agent say anything about Benji?¡± I asked. zzMy voice was low. I didn¡¯t want to move my jaw too much.

    ¡°She didn¡¯t know,¡± Bell said. ¡°The team was supposed to sync up after this.¡±

    She surveyed the house, and then said to me, ¡°Let¡¯s go to the door.¡±

    She took a step, and so did I¡ªand nothing fell out from under me. I was fine. This was okay.

    I was okay.

    The steps were slow, but they were steps and we made them¡ªand we got to that door, opened just a crack right where I¡¯d left it.

    Bell said to me, in a low voice to match my own: ¡°Thank you for saving my life.¡±

    0??0??0

    It was slow going, but we made it back to the motel in one piece, without too many stares. After a while, and a bit of stumbling, I was able to walk under my own power. I was a bit nauseous, and everything I did felt rounded and numb, but overall, I was all there. It was a bit tough to talk, too, so I generally kept quiet. Not that that was all that different from before.

    We got what we wanted. The information was in hand, and two of the six were down. Three, if Yoru was to be believed. That shadow-unit tailing us was real, and yet somehow felt completely inconsequential. Their efforts were completely in vain, weren¡¯t they?

    Were we not all invincible?

    All of us except¡ª

    0??0??0

    What came the next day didn¡¯t come as a surprise to me. I knew it was coming. It couldn¡¯t have been anything else, could it?

    Every step Bell and I took toward the bus stop that next day, still woozy from the day before, convinced me more of that. He was dead. He had to be dead.

    It couldn¡¯t have been anything else, could it?

    The feeling of responsibility I¡¯d had two nights ago was gone. I was at peace with the idea that this was in no way, shape, or form my fault. I wasn¡¯t there. I couldn¡¯t have done anything. Saving Bell somehow absolved me of a failure to save Benji. I saved the one I was there for; therefore, I couldn¡¯t be responsible for saving the one I wasn¡¯t there for.

    But maybe if he¡¯d liked me a bit more¡ª

    He didn¡¯t, though, and that was past. There was nothing I could do about it.

    I was so certain of what was going to be said that when I felt Loybol and Eliza there in the bus stop, not looking at each other, Loybol¡¯s hands folded in her lap and Eliza¡¯s braced back on the seat raising up her shoulders in a perpetual shrug, I knew it immediately.

    The switch flipped. The answer received.

    She didn¡¯t have to say anything. I could tell from the faces, from the muscles. This was it. The lights went down and the war-dance had begun. Yesterday was the prologue¡ªthis was the true performance. Everything before was rehearsal, everything before was trivial.

    This was it. This was the thing we¡¯d been warned of¡ªthe thing Prochazka dreamed of while the rest of us sat and waited.

    Now¡ªnow¡ªthe show. The curtain is up, the band is playing.

    Too late for stage-fright. Too late for second guesses.

    The time is now. Not only now¡ªthe time had already gone.

    It began when the bullet passed through his head.

    Eliza didn¡¯t acknowledge me when I came in. Loybol did, through a tiny eye-flick in my direction. That was all I needed. In that moment, I was the telepath I always wanted to be.

    Nothing had ever been easier, despite the implication. Nothing had ever been clearer, despite my condition.

    Bell and I stepped inside the glass enclosure and I asked Loybol, ¡°He¡¯s dead, isn¡¯t he.¡±

    Her face was loose. Expressionless. I felt her lips move, the tongue in her throat, before I heard her answer.

    ¡°He is,¡± she said, and that was that.

    Our shoes clacked down hard on the stage. Beat one, measure one: go.

    0??0??0

    I did not cry for him.

    Truthfully¡ªI barely knew him and he barely knew me.

    We had passed each other in the night and nothing more.

 67 - These Heartless Creatures (1) [June 15th, Age 15]

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

 68 - These Heartless Creatures (2) [June 15th, Age 15]

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

 69 - These Heartless Creatures (3) [June 15th, Age 15]

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

 70 - In Awe Of (1) [July 7th, Age 15]

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

 71 - In Awe Of (2) [July 7th, Age 15]

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

 72 - In Awe Of (3) [July 7th, Age 15]

The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

 73 - In Awe Of (4) [July 7th, Age 15]

Stolen novel; please report.

 74 - Model #P390 On The Brink Of Disaster [July 8th, Age 15]

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

 75 - New Years Aspect Sinister (1) [July 10th, Age 15]

    Cygnus and I woke up two mornings later under the assumption that today had to be the day. If not now, when? The plan stated that we were supposed to be out there two days ago. In the interest of getting things rolling, we decided to step outside for a quick walk after breakfast, and it took about half a second of standing outside the hotel lobby, out from under the building¡¯s front overhang, to realize why we¡¯d waited.

    One second in the ninety-degree, barely breathable, borderline liquid air.

    I didn¡¯t even need to bounce droplets to be completely aware of every crevice in the whole wide world. There was not a single thing that escaped me.

    I knew Loybol and another figure were walking toward us from beyond the other end of the parking lot before they saw us standing outside. I knew, after a moment¡¯s thought, that the figure walking next to her¡ªarms crossed behind her head, laughing at her own joke¡ªwasn¡¯t Yoru or Ava or Bell, and Esther had gone home, so it had to be Eliza, brought in for backup. Behind them, though, was a short male figure that could only have been one person: hands in his pockets, looking out at the road. Counting the cars as they went by to have something to do other than listen to Eliza.

    Without really intending to, I¡¯d fully turned myself to face them, even though I wasn¡¯t really within their eyeshot yet¡ªand again without fully intending to, I grabbed Cygnus¡¯s hand and pulled him out of his thoughts, walking to meet them.

    I was omniscient.

    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± I told his confusion, and because I said it, it was law.

    0??0??0

    It was, in fact, Eliza waiting there for us with Loybol. Of course it was. In that morning I couldn¡¯t possibly have been wrong. I found her from so far away that she didn¡¯t know to dry out the air around her to keep me in the dark yet¡ªand by the time she thought to, her figure fading from my perception, she realized the jig was up and didn¡¯t bother.

    Cygnus gave the trio a limp wave with his free hand. ¡°Gang¡¯s all here, huh?¡±

    Eliza replied first. ¡°More or less. What¡¯s up?¡±

    She gave me a quick salute, one with lowered eyes. I did not return the gesture. I didn¡¯t even move¡ªbut after a moment I remembered I should at least say hello to the other two so I added, ¡°Hi again, guys.¡±

    ¡°Did you two have fun?¡± Eliza asked.

    ¡°Feeling nosy today, aren¡¯t we,¡± Cygnus said, flatly.

    ¡°As nosy as always,¡± she said, brightly. Just another day for Eliza. Another perfect summer morning, visiting her friends, doing her favorite job.

    ¡°Pleasantries aside,¡± Loybol said, with emphasis on that first word, ¡°I brought Eliza in for backup. I figured that we¡¯re walking into a fight without the element of surprise, so the least we can do is be prepared. ¡°

    That put all five of us on a single mission. By far the largest number I¡¯d been a part of. Even back in the day, we¡¯d never put that many on a single outing. It was widely considered bad form.

    This could only mean one thing, obviously.

    ¡°How ready do you think they are?¡±

    Loybol frowned. ¡°I mean this with all sincerity¡ªthey¡¯re probably treating our eventual assault on that building in White Plains as a proper last stand. Whoever¡¯s in there reports directly to the man up top. She will, for certain, know something. We¡¯re not going to stand around and try to dodge the issue. Erika and Yoru, you two are in charge of making sure nobody¡¯s waiting in a window when we get there. It¡¯s a city, so be thorough. You know the stakes, so I¡¯ll spare you the details. Cygnus, Eliza, you¡¯re with me. I will be interrogating the target personally. You two are my guards. Those are the initial positions. Obviously, each of you will be wherever we end up needing you to be, but that¡¯s what we¡¯re starting with. Understood?¡±

    I nodded. The four others gave their various affirmations as well.

    ¡°If we play our cards right, this might be the last fight we have to do,¡± Loybol went on. Her voice was iron¡ªlow, quiet, but unmistakably and completely unbreakable. A force like the movement of tectonic plates. ¡°It¡¯s unlikely, but a show of overwhelming force here can drive a stake into their hearts like nothing else. This is their last stand. Their last stand is our Tuesday-night bust. Tonight, we will walk out of there with a name, a face, an address, and a clear end in sight. Tomorrow, we will walk out of this city with that man¡¯s head on a stake.¡±

    It hadn¡¯t occurred to me that this was Loybol¡¯s first crack at warfare until that moment. She wasn¡¯t old enough to have fought in Vietnam or anything like that, and I couldn¡¯t ever see her as a standard infantryman like Prochazka and Benji both were, back in simpler days.

    But as a captain¡ªa general¡ªsomeone who¡¯d take the eyes of those infantrymen skyward to their higher purpose¡ª

    I¡¯d follow Loybol to the ends of the earth.

    Having Eliza next to her made Eliza¡¯s earlier pass at my good graces even more infuriating. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, gesturing wildly at Loybol¡ªidiot, this is what you¡¯re supposed to do, this is the kind of thing I blindly follow¡ªbut aside from the simple fact that I¡¯d never be that forward about it, the fear of Eliza simply agreeing and changing course made me pause.

    I didn¡¯t really want to know what Eliza was capable of, in any respect.

    0??0??0

    We filed into two cars, back in the Home Depot¡¯s parking lot. To switch things up, Yoru and I were together, while Loybol, Eliza, and Cygnus took Loybol¡¯s car. While Loybol had switched out the car she used at least once during this whole war effort, Yoru hadn¡¯t, which meant it was the same car I¡¯d had a breakdown in about a year earlier, when I¡¯d let a little girl explode under my watch.

    Just being in the presence of that car again was enough to make me pause. My memory of it was in color, an actual image, not just a set of points along curvatures with textures overlaid, but the second I¡¯d made the connection¡ªit was the same car, it had to be¡ªthe plug on the bottom of my brain was pulled and the memory of how badly I¡¯d screwed that mission up swirled around and drained deep into my stomach.

    But Yoru didn¡¯t notice anything was wrong, and I didn¡¯t want him to worry, so I swallowed and did my best to plug the hole again.

    It was about an hours¡¯ drive to White Plains from where we were. We¡¯d be parking about a mile outside of the building and taking a route on foot, all five of us together, which had its risks but was better than splitting up again.

    I didn¡¯t quite want to admit it, but I was worried. The weather was as perfect as it could¡¯ve been for this short of an actual downpour, and we had our orders lined up, and we had a good idea of the geography of the area and where snipers could be hiding and such, but I couldn¡¯t shake a nagging feeling in the back of my throat that we just weren¡¯t quite ready.

    After the events at Sal¡¯s house, I didn¡¯t feel as invincible as I used to.

    Yoru was feeling the same way, I was sure. He held the steering wheel so tight that he was basically sculpted around it. He did not speak to me for almost the entire ride there. We just sat in silence¡ªhim staring out the front window at the other cars and the buildings and such outside and me trapped alone in a completely opaque coffin hurtling down a highway with nothing but my own thoughts and his shallow breathing for company.

    I used to like car rides.

    We had exactly one exchange on that trip. When we were around ten minutes away, Yoru finally spoke. Sparing me from what I was surely about to do myself.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°I used to be on the fence about this whole thing, you know,¡± he said, to nobody in particular. Facing forward, like I wasn¡¯t there. His eyes didn¡¯t flick to me, not even for a second.

    To the singer on the radio¡¯s song, maybe.

    ¡°The war?¡± I asked.

    He nodded. ¡°I used to worry about all the people we were mowing down who didn¡¯t really seem like they knew anything.¡±

    I wondered if anyone told him.

    ¡°It¡¯s means to an end,¡± I said, similarly to nobody.

    ¡°I said I used to,¡± he replied. ¡°Now, well¡­¡±

    He swallowed. Shifted his grip on the steering wheel for the first time. Let himself lean back, took a hand off the wheel. Relax, relax. The stress theater isn¡¯t fooling anyone.

    Now¡ªsay what you feel.

    ¡°It¡¯s not any different than before, really,¡± he went on. ¡°I¡¯ve choked out twice as many people for just about the same. In three years, when people find out about magic, the body count¡¯s gonna dwarf what we¡¯re doing here by so many orders of magnitude it¡¯ll be like¡­it¡¯ll make this look like bug squashing. Like a fly-swatter. At the end of the day¡­it¡¯s the same old shit. Keep down the people who¡¯re making noise. This is just one long, extended old-style mission, with a couple of extra parties involved, and¡ªI¡¯m not gonna act like I always spared the extras on the old missions. Hell. You¡¯ve seen it. We don¡¯t give a shit.¡±

    I wanted to say I did¡ªbut he¡¯d seen it, too.

    He knew.

    I swallowed. I was a bit worried I¡¯d have to play this role again when I got into the car with him, but if he felt comfortable venting around me, then the least I could do was be receptive.

    I didn¡¯t have enough time to interject before he went on. ¡°I mean¡ªI¡¯d never say this around Loybol, obviously, but I really don¡¯t feel like this matters all that much. It¡¯s all theater, right? It¡¯s doing something just to say we did.¡±

    ¡°We could lose the land,¡± I said.

    ¡°It¡¯s not ours, anyway,¡± he replied. ¡°It¡¯s Prochazka¡¯s. I know you¡¯re actually from around here, but¡­Ava and I are from Chicago. This isn¡¯t exactly our ancestral homeland, you know? I don¡¯t have that angle.¡± He sighed. ¡°And¡ªGod, at the end of the day, I just don¡¯t give as much of a shit about human life as I think I should. Ava doesn¡¯t, either. We just¡ªI don¡¯t know. As long as I get to delete some shitters from the world, I guess I¡¯m happy.¡±

    ¡°Flushing the people out of the holes didn¡¯t bother you at all?¡±

    I ground my teeth the second that sentence left them. Stupid.

    ¡°Did it bother you?¡± he asked me.

    Honesty, I supposed, was better than trying to lie. I¡¯d dug myself this hole already, the least I could do was pat down the sides and make it comfortable.

    ¡°A little,¡± I said.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to lie to me,¡± Yoru said. ¡°I just told you I don¡¯t give a shit.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±

    He shook his head. Disappointed, somehow. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that shit, Erika, I know you don¡¯t give a fuck about those people.¡±

    ¡°I think about it a lot.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve talked to Bell about this already.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m sure she had so much to say,¡± he replied, absently. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you talked to anyone other than your enabler, did you?¡±

    ¡°I talked to Loybol and Prochazka about it too. And Bell¡¯s not enabling me.¡±

    Yoru, finally, took his eyes off the road for a second to look at me. We were stopped at a red-light somewhere, and he used that couple of seconds to really take in everything there was to see about the girl trapped in a car next to him.

    It turned out there wasn¡¯t all that much. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing this war¡¯s about you,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ve all sipped the Kool-Aid to some extent, but you grabbed the jug and chugged it.¡±

    ¡°Benji died for it,¡± I said. ¡°You think he didn¡¯t believe in this?¡±

    ¡°I think he died because I fucked up and he got picked off when he wasn¡¯t expecting it. That¡¯s not dying for a cause. That¡¯s like saying you¡¯re a self-made millionaire when all you did was buy a lottery ticket. You didn¡¯t do shit. Benji never got a chance to choose. Given that choice, maybe he would¡¯ve. I know what the man¡¯s thoughts were on the upcoming end of the world, and I think if someone put a gun to his head and told him to renounce all this so he could live another day, he¡¯d wrench the gun from their hand and put a bullet between his eyes himself. But you know what else I think?¡±

    I fell quiet for a moment. I didn¡¯t have a response.

    Sitting in cars hadn¡¯t been working out for me very much lately. You¡¯d think I¡¯d be more mentally prepared for talks like this by now, but every time I¡¯d managed to convince myself things would be different.

    It turns out I¡¯m very good at that.

    ¡°I think that might¡¯ve been the only two things you two had in common,¡± he finished.

    ¡°It¡¯s part of the job description,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ve all gotta be prepared to die here. It¡¯s for the good of the world.¡±

    He shook his head again. ¡°God, Erika, I know you¡¯re not this stupid. Think for yourself for half a goddamn second. You can¡¯t possibly believe that, in the current year, we can keep magic under wraps for much longer. All of this¡ªit¡¯s just theater. Like I said. It¡¯s a dance. It¡¯s performative warfare. We fight these people because it makes the people who¡¯re directing feel like they¡¯ve got control over something. We¡¯ve got NYC so hopelessly outgunned. Do you realize that? Do you realize just how completely, totally outmatched they are between you, Bell, Eliza, and Loybol? Hell, throw Prochazka himself in there. He¡¯s in your league. You five could crack your knuckles and walk into the city at your leisure and put a stop to this, but you¡¯re not. Why? Because secretly Loybol and Prochazka both know that this doesn¡¯t actually matter. This is something they can control, so they¡¯re gonna control it for as long as they can, because you know what they can¡¯t control? Some wackjob with an earth key dropping a skyscraper and doing 9-11 two, electric boogaloo. There¡¯s a period of time where someone who¡¯s sufficiently mentally ill gets a key and nobody¡¯s found out yet. They¡¯re not on any list, they¡¯re not held accountable for anything. For just a little bit of time, nobody knows they exist, and if they wake up that morning and choose violence, we¡¯re all fucked. We¡¯ve been able to mask a few of those times as terrorist attacks or freak accidents or whatever, but something¡¯s gotta give eventually. Someone¡¯s gonna get someone on video at some point and it¡¯ll go viral on Twitter and then we¡¯re all fucked. So we stop NYC from going lebensraum on all our asses and we put an ice-dart in the Fuhrer¡¯s head. We buy ourselves some time. For what? Now we¡¯ve got a whole city that nobody¡¯s paying any attention to, and someone¡¯s gotta keep an eye on the place or the aforementioned sequel to everyone¡¯s favorite American disaster happens.¡±

    He let out a long breath and it felt like half his soul slipped out between his lips. ¡°Nobody¡¯s got a plan, Erika. There¡¯s no plan. Nobody told you what it is because it doesn¡¯t exist. We don¡¯t know what we¡¯re supposed to do if we win. We don¡¯t even know what we¡¯re supposed to do if we lose. Can we surrender? Does it matter if we throw our hands in the air and give up instead of choosing to die? Maybe it¡¯ll matter now, but in a year when the world¡¯s burning down because Joe Sample found out there¡¯s a subset of humans with a little piece of silver jewelry that makes them strictly superior to him, I don¡¯t think history¡¯ll look back on us morons dancing around beforehand all that kindly.¡±

    I finally found something to say. ¡°Are you afraid to die?¡±

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± he snapped. ¡°Erika, this isn¡¯t a fucking death cult, it¡¯s a job. It¡¯s a goddamn nine-to-five for psychopaths. That¡¯s it. Obviously I don¡¯t want to die. Obviously I¡¯m not interested in dying for something that¡¯s gonna be made irrelevant by some idiot in six months. And maybe I didn¡¯t realize that before when we were invincible and the jobs were small and the perps were stupid, but since Loybol and Prochazka insist on dragging this out for as long as fucking possible on the one-percent chance that you on a humid day isn¡¯t enough to maul their entire army single-handedly, I¡¯m starting to have a few doubts. Okay?¡±

    He paused. I thought he was done, but then he found something else. ¡°And it¡¯s not like we¡¯re even all on the same page about this. You¡¯re pretty clearly more than thrilled to leap headfirst into the furnace to borrow a couple more months for your masters, but I¡¯m not, and Ava¡¯s certainly not, and Bell¡¯s sure as fuck not, too.¡±

    ¡°Why does everyone keep saying that?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Because it¡¯s true, Erika,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ve all known Bell for longer than you have. We know what she¡¯s like.¡±

    ¡°I know Bell,¡± I said, again. Insistent.

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°Bell knows you. You don¡¯t know shit about Bell. Has Bell told you literally anything about herself? Anything at all?¡±

    My silence was the only answer he needed.

    ¡°Exactly,¡± he said, after a bit too long. ¡°Bell doesn¡¯t give a shit about us. She¡¯s made that abundantly clear. She cares about two things: herself, and the salary Prochazka¡¯s giving her to keep fighting for us. Bell¡¯s just standing around waiting for knowledge of magic to blow up so she can carve out a slice of country for herself and become a dictator. That¡¯s it. She probably actively wants us to lose this war. That, or at least she¡¯s complicit in making it take as long as possible.¡±

    I wanted to dispute the dictator part, but I found I couldn¡¯t quite do it. It sounded right. It sounded like something Bell would do.

    And I couldn¡¯t dispute that I knew nothing about her, either. It¡¯d been thrown in my face before.

    But I did have one thing, at least.

    ¡°She saved my life,¡± I said, slowly. ¡°And if she was going to try and take over the world or something, she wouldn¡¯t have saved me.¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯d fight her?¡±

    ¡°If it came to that.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯d involve standing up to one of your idols, and we all know you just don¡¯t have it in you. All that power wasted on someone with a fuckin¡¯ fear of authority. God.¡±

    And after a moment, after the car had eased to a stop: ¡°You really are just a broken kid, aren¡¯t you. Maybe you really just don¡¯t know any better.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have an answer to that, either. The ambient road-noise kept my thoughts away¡ªthe wind down the road, the distant sound of car horns. City sounds in all their banality.

    But the radio was gone, and that was the first line of defense.

    Yoru looked around for a moment, then unbuckled his seat belt. ¡°Well, chin up,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re here. Get your tap-dance shoes on. It¡¯s showtime.¡±

    He pulled down the sun-visor and opened the mirror¡¯s cover, looking at himself for a second. With the way I was now, I couldn¡¯t know what he was seeing in there. Just eyes staring at eyes. He said nothing for a good ten seconds, just watching the minute movements of his own face in that tiny strip of reflection.

    I couldn¡¯t know what he was seeing in there, but I certainly could guess.

    Then he slapped himself twice on the sides of his head, muttered, ¡°Showtime, idiot,¡± under his breath, and opened the car door.

 76 - New Years Aspect Sinister (2) [July 10th, Age 15]

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

 77 - New Years Aspect Sinister (3) [July 10th, Age 15]

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

 78 - New Years Aspect Sinister (4) [July 10th, Age 15]

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

 79 - New Years Aspect Sinister (5) [July 10th, Age 15]

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

 80 - Return, Return (An Addendum) [July 10th, Age 15]

If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

 81 - The Abandoner (1) [July 15th, Age 15]

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

 82 - The Abandoner (2) [July 15th, Age 15]

    If I¡¯m honest, we didn¡¯t spend as much time in the barracks as I thought we would. Despite having the four of us left in Unit 6 home again, we spent a lot of time apart¡ªor, at least, at the bar in the basement. I picked up where I¡¯d left off with mixing drinks after Cygnus ran off Braille labels for everything, and while it was slower going than it used to be, it was still more or less functional.

    I¡¯d taken to going down to the bar at night, just for an hour or two before I went to sleep. There wasn¡¯t any regular maintenance required down there, but I¡¯d just stand around washing the glasses and arranging the bottles in the fridge and such just to have something to do. On the first night, it was nothing more than an excuse to be alone for a little while and decompress, but on the second Cygnus came down too after a while and I ended up actually pouring drinks.

    People rolled through one at a time¡ªthe second night it was Cygnus, on the third it was Loybol, the fourth, Bell, and on the fifth it was her¡ªfinally, after all that time.

    Ava stumbled down the concrete steps heavily pre-gamed and made her way to the little bastion of light in the basement the bar stood in.

    I¡¯d known this was coming. I do have at least a bit of pattern-recognition skills, anyway, and I was certain enough that this was about to happen that I¡¯d gotten dressed for the occasion, wearing the little suit-vest I used to wear while dealing. Leaning into the irony of it all was what I did best, and I figured if tonight was going to be the night Ava chose to make her big stand against me, the least I could do was look the part.

    I was also moderately tipsy already. I think I spent every single night drunk.

    In hindsight, I was lucky we were back on the front lines not too long after that night.

    Benji came to me in much the same way, I remembered¡ªalmost a year ago. More than that, even. It was so long ago at that point that it didn¡¯t even feel like something that happened to me. Maybe to a close friend, but the event didn¡¯t encircle my heart like it used to.

    Too far gone, now. Too much between me and it¡ªand either way, Benji was dead, so there wasn¡¯t much point in reliving it.

    That said¡ª

    Ava came up to me, took a seat on the center stool, and just sat there staring at the bar¡¯s back wall for a moment, completely expressionless.

    I gave her more than enough time to take the initiative, but she never did, so I picked up the slack. ¡°Will you be having anything, miss?¡± I asked.

    Waitressing¡ªor real-life bartending¡ªsounded like true nightmare jobs, but I didn¡¯t mind playing the part on TV every once in a while.

    The question barely processed. After a moment she lowered her eyes and giggled a bit. ¡°I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m here,¡± she said, voice dry. She¡¯d been drinking, sure, and she hadn¡¯t been taking water with it. ¡°I¡¯m already drunk. I don¡¯t need your help.¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome to just sit there, then,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not going to stop you.¡±

    With that, I turned my attention back to a glass that was already spotless, swirling some water around in it just to do something with my hands.

    Ava watched me do it for a moment. Exactly enough time passed to make me half-forget she was there.

    ¡°Words cannot begin to describe¡­¡± she started, just as toneless as before, just as slow¡ªwith that same dopey half-smile she¡¯d flashed while giggling a second before. ¡°Can¡¯t even start to describe how much I hate you.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± was all I said in response. No pause in my cleaning. I didn¡¯t even look at her.

    That, of course, is why I pre-gamed for this, too.

    ¡°Get me a beer,¡± she said.

    I turned and opened the mini-fridge back there and pulled one out¡ªthen, after a moment¡¯s thought, grabbed a second one. The first I put down on top of the fridge, and the second I held in my hand, forming an ice-ring to pop the bottle cap off. Brought it to my lips and took a long, hard chug.

    Yoru¡¯d taught me that one, sometime last year.

    Ava watched me do it for the few seconds it lasted, and then when I was done I took the unopened bottle and passed it to her, popping the cap off with the same ice-ring I used for my own.

    I¡¯d only managed to chug about half of mine, but that alone was enough to press Ava¡¯s buttons. ¡°God. What the fuck is wrong with you?¡±

    ¡°Depends who you ask,¡± I replied, swirling my half-filled bottle around. ¡°And your perspective.¡±

    I expected her to have an instant retort, but she didn¡¯t. Instead, she took a normal-sized sip from her bottle and swallowed it down hard, like it physically hurt her to do so.

    ¡°I tried to like you,¡± she said, after a moment. ¡°I really did.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± I replied, instantly.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°That¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t care what you think.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should.¡± The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and it was only in the blank second where they scattered to the air between us that I realized what that could be interpreted as.

    It was not lost on Ava. I didn¡¯t even have time to pray that it would be. ¡°Are you threatening me, Erika?¡±

    That chug, though, put me over the edge. I was far too drunk to be as afraid of what was coming out of my mouth as I should have been. The words just came, fast and even, and the rock-brain corner of my skull that lived in eternal fear of these things was powerless to stop me.

    What the hell did I care what Ava thought of me?

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± I asked her. I didn¡¯t even bother to face her as I spoke. Reaching for a dry glass in the sink and scanning the hanging ones for an open spot. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t threaten you if I wanted you gone. It would just...happen.¡±

    Ava didn¡¯t have much of a reply to that. At least not for a couple moments. When she did, she started assertively, but tapered off into tittering. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she said, ¡°and that¡¯s what pisses me off so much. Well, one of the things. There¡¯s a lot. You know.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t. Explain it to me.¡±

    I¡¯d picked my mode. Backing off now was weakness, and Ava was not someone I could show weakness in front of.

    That was simply how it was.

    She sighed and tipped her head further downward. I may have been armed to the gills with alcohol and animosity, but she wasn¡¯t. She¡¯d fired her shot and that, as it turned out, was it.

    ¡°You let him die,¡± she said, in a tone I¡¯d never heard her use before. A quiet one, a low one, without a single ounce of threatening air in it. Any bravado she¡¯d come in with, fueled by her own drinking, was gone. Maybe she¡¯d thought she was ready for this, but she wasn¡¯t. ¡°What else do you want me to say? You let him die, Erika. You walked away.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have a response for that. The question was purely rhetorical. It didn¡¯t need one.

    I expected her to follow it up with something, but she didn¡¯t. She sat there and waited for me.

    I¡¯d already chosen violence¡ªit was far too late to choose anything else. I¡¯d dug in too deep. This could be an act to trip me up, I knew¡ªI wouldn¡¯t put it past her. She¡¯d do something like that to someone she hated so viscerally.

    She sat and waited for me to speak until she couldn¡¯t handle it anymore. ¡°I want you dead,¡± she said, and a hint of a growl crept back into her voice. ¡°I want you in a fucking cage. You shouldn¡¯t exist. It spits on everything we¡¯ve done to harbor you. To¡ªto enable you. And you¡¯re the only person in this war that matters. All the rest of us¡ªwe¡¯re expendable, we¡¯re dirt, we¡¯re nothing. God, Erika¡ªthey had you and Bell in a room with your guards down and they took a potshot at Bell. Do you realize how fucking insane that is?¡±

    ¡°I was there,¡± I said, flatly. ¡°I remember.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure, you remember, but do you understand? That¡¯s always the question, isn¡¯t it? What actually gets through your skull that you don¡¯t want to get through?¡±

    ¡°Lots of things. You wouldn¡¯t get it.¡±

    That, really, was true¡ªboth halves of it.

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t get it,¡± she went on. The fire returned. Arms clenched, the moisture in the corners of her eyes glistening red. She was once again present and I swallowed and remembered the path I¡¯d taken. ¡°Bell is literally fucking invincible. Trying to kill her is a complete, abject waste of time. Do you really think they¡¯re stupid enough to believe a bullet to the head would kill her? No, they can¡¯t be that dumb. That fire-key from Buffalo had the right idea, last year, and it still wasn¡¯t good enough. She was a charred hairless bone with barely a raw heartbeat and she still regenerated back to normal in under a week. How is anyone ever supposed to beat that? They had you dead to rights, Erika. They could¡¯ve ended the war on the spot. They could have stopped everything right then and there by putting a hunk of steel between your eyes and they chose not to. Because they want you alive, and the rest of us are worthless. Do you realize how we see that? The rest of us who know you, who¡¯ve seen how little of a fuck you give about everyone else, who watch you crumble when something goes wrong, who watch you freeze up when someone asks you a weird question, who¡¯re fully aware you¡¯d eat shit to even a middling telepath?¡±

    Ava¡¯s breath came in ragged half-gasps. There was no window to retort. Nothing I could say to defend myself.

    I locked up just like she said I would.

    And still she went on: ¡°The word from above is that we¡¯re supposed to give our lives to protect you, because the war can¡¯t be lost if you¡¯re here, and can¡¯t be won if you¡¯re not. The narrative for you might be that you¡¯re supposed to die for the land, or the Radiant or the cause or Prochazka or whatever-the-fuck, who fucking cares, but to the rest of us rabble the narrative is that we¡¯re supposed to die for you!¡±

    She stuck a finger at me, a shaking hard-extended finger attached to a stone arm braced on the table by her elbow, her face contorted and twisted into something inhuman¡ªno, not inhuman: something explicitly human. A rage an animal can¡¯t share¡ªa rage from knowing.

    A rage from understanding.

    Her arms twisted upward and caught her head. Her voice dropped lower but the force¡ªthe hell in there¡ªdid not falter. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything to live for. You know that, right? Yoru and I had each other and that was it. We never gave a shit about the fucking land, or the future, or the land¡¯s future or the war or the cause or whatever this is. We gave a shit about the fat paycheck and each other. You¡¯d be having this same conversation with Yoru if I was in his place, so don¡¯t think this is just an unfortunate turn of events where he died before I did. We were always on the same page about this. We were in lock-fucking-step. He was just more willing to lie to your face than I am.¡±

    I reached backward for my half a beer without looking away from her and she snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking ignore me!¡±

    My arm dropped to its side and I became still.

    ¡°You think you can drink this shit away? You think the world stops spinning when you stop paying attention? Jesus Christ.¡± Her voice dropped low again. ¡°I want you dead. I want to strangle you with my own two fucking hands, but I can¡¯t. And it¡¯s not because I¡¯m not allowed. Don¡¯t think for a second it¡¯s because Prochakza would kill me right after. It¡¯s because I know I can¡¯t do it. I know I can¡¯t ever beat you in a head-to-head fight, because I¡¯m made of flesh and that means I get dehydrated and I choke to death the second I raise a finger. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you go all out because I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you in real danger. Bell told me how you killed the shooter out at Sal¡¯s place and you did that with a fresh concussion. I¡¯m probably the weakest key in the building now. Yoru and I were always the bottom two, I guess with Cygnus we¡¯d be the bottom three in some order. I wouldn¡¯t stand a chance against you. None of us would. And I want you to know how much that hurts. How much like shit that makes me feel. How weak and powerless and useless I am against the shit we have to do here. I want all of that to bounce around your empty fucking skull in the half-second you get before the New York gang¡¯s bullet passes between your eyes.¡±

    She stood up. Shoved the barstool in. Turned around.

    ¡°And even that probably wouldn¡¯t be enough for me,¡± she said, more quietly, ¡°if it means it¡¯s not my finger on the trigger.¡±

    And then she left and I was alone again in that cone of light I remembered so well.

 83 - The Abandoner (3) [July 15th, Age 15]

    The old adage states that you should never look back in anger, but in my expert opinion, I¡¯m not sure you should ever look back at all.

    So what if I decided not to? I don¡¯t own a time machine, I don¡¯t have a magic eraser. I can¡¯t go back and make something what it¡¯s not. Even if it was something I could try and make amends for in the present, I wasn¡¯t sure it was worth the trouble. Look at Ava, look at what she said. Look at that and tell me there were any words I could conjure to make her feel something other than what she¡¯d pre-decided to feel. The parade was already in motion¡ªI could watch, I could throw popcorn at it, but nothing would change the procession. It¡¯d started before I even knew it was on the calendar.

    I sat there in stunned silence for a few moments, but it was a few shorter than I thought I would. An older version of Erika might¡¯ve sat there for longer¡ªbut with the way I was then, I was more prepared to let that go.

    Ava couldn¡¯t kill me, anyway. No matter how much she might¡¯ve wanted to. Cygnus and Bell had my back. She¡¯d just have to deal with it.

    After a few short moments, I gathered myself and took the three-quarters-empty bottle. All the glasses were clean and re-hung. All the ingredients for mixed drinks put away. There wasn¡¯t a soul around but me, and it was too late at night now to wait for more. I was closing shop; anyone dropping by for a late-night hit would have to self-serve. Alone in that cavernous basement room surrounded by the empty crates and forgotten machinery and fragments of a previous existence none of us knew.

    The bar¡¯s faucet had developed a small leak since I¡¯d last been here. It dripped¡ªthe only sound in a lifeless world.

    I left the bar. Shutting off the lights as I went. I wasn¡¯t afraid of the dark anymore.

    That much, at least, was progress for sure.

    0??0??0

    I¡¯d figured we were going to roll out right after that night, but Loybol kept us back for a little longer. That previously hadn¡¯t done us much good, but I was hardly in a position to criticize, so I didn¡¯t. Her explanation fell along the lines of ¡°there¡¯s more to weasel out of Misha,¡± but I wasn¡¯t so sure about that, either. Somehow I didn¡¯t feel like she actually knew all that much. She may have been a high ranking officer, or lackey, or associate or whatever her position was called in Neville¡¯s organizational structure, but her information seemed strictly structural. She knew where things were and who was in what spot, but didn¡¯t know a ton about what they were up to, or what Neville¡¯s actual plans were. Loybol¡¯s approach to getting info out of her was a fairly slow one. She decided, sometime at the end of the first meeting, that threatening Misha was a waste of time¡ªshe could simply make Misha talk at any point, so it¡¯s not like there was any hurdle to overcome. Loybol spent a decent amount of time just walking around the grounds with her, taking her out to some restaurants in town, talking about anything other than the war.

    I couldn¡¯t blame them, really, for wanting to think about something else. God only knew I tried to.

    After a week and a half of that, Misha was considerably less standoffish. She¡¯d taken to wandering around the facility by herself, making small talk with anyone who stood still long enough to be noticed. There was some amount of long-term recovery to assimilation, apparently, especially for people who retained some sense of autonomy, so a lot of her movements felt like the rehabilitation process of someone who¡¯d undergone serious surgery. In a way, I guess, she had, given that most of everything under her skin was replaced with black sludge that did everything for her.

    Seeing what went on under the hood of Loybol¡¯s standees made Cygnus very uncomfortable, and he and Ava shared an opinion on that, but Bell and I did not. Personally, I just thought it was neat, and Bell¡¯s stance on it was well known. There was a point where Bell and I were planning to go out to get some coffee and Misha was outside on the grounds, poking at some flowers in the field nearby. They were growing in front of her, so that answered the standing question about her key¡ªand once she saw us going by, she waved and came over, opened her mouth, and simply could not speak.

    She¡¯d stood there with her mouth open and her throat stressing trying to make sounds for a bit and simply could not do it. After a second, she stopped trying, face scrunched up in confusion, and turned around to go back to the flowers. It was equally confusing to Bell and I¡ªalthough considerably less scary¡ªbut a thought struck me and I turned to Bell. ¡°Can you go inside for a second?¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m curious about something,¡± I said. ¡°Just¡ªgo over there somewhere, far away.¡±

    Bell caught the thread. ¡°Do you really think so?¡±

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯d make sense, right?¡±

    Misha looked up at us, silent.

    ¡°We¡¯re trying something,¡± I replied, gesturing at Bell again, who nodded and headed off back toward the factory doors.

    She opened the first set, didn¡¯t open the second, and presumably just stood in the gap between them. Once the first door¡¯d finished slowly closing, I waved at Misha again and said, ¡°Hey¡ªtry it now.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    She blinked. ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    ¡°Have you not talked to Bell at all yet?¡± I asked her.

    She paused, looking down. ¡°I¡¯ve talked to a lot of the staff, and I talked to Cygnus and Ava a lot, and you a decent amount, and I was unconscious for a few days in the middle somewhere there, so¡­¡±

    After a shrug, she added, ¡°Weird. I think this is the first time.¡±

    ¡°In five days?¡±

    ¡°Somehow, yeah. That¡¯s really weird.¡±

    ¡°I think Loybol locked you out of talking to her,¡± I said.

    ¡°Like¡ªa hard, physical lock?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d explain why I never really wanted to,¡± Misha said, looking out toward the factory¡¯s doors. ¡°I¡¯ve definitely seen her, and I¡¯ve definitely seen her alone, but¡ªevery time, I just walked right past her. It¡¯s like¡ªI know she exists, but for some reason I¡¯m not allowed to remember¡ªGod, that¡¯s fucked.¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Loybol doesn¡¯t draw a lot of hard lines, but she¡¯s got a few.¡±

    ¡°I get that Bell¡¯s fuck-you strong, but so are you, so what gives?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s really interested in the umbroids. Really wants to know how they work. Loybol won¡¯t tell her, and I guess now that you¡¯re here, she¡¯s got to extend that to you, too.¡±

    ¡°Wild,¡± Misha said. ¡°I mean, Bell can just tell you her question and then you tell me, right?¡±

    ¡°We can try that,¡± I said, absently. Vaguely turned toward the doors as well.

    ¡°You don¡¯t think that¡¯s gonna work, do you.¡±

    ¡°Loybol¡¯s pretty thorough. She¡¯s probably got this mostly figured out. And either way, if you get around it, she¡¯ll just knock you down a few autonomy levels. And then you¡¯ll be sweeping.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m curious now, though,¡± she said. ¡°Go ask Bell what she wants.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t any skin off my back, and admittedly I was curious too, so I shrugged and said, ¡°Sure.¡±

    Bell was still between the factory doors when I arrived, leaning up against the wall cross-armed like a dying tree. I relayed what Misha¡¯d told me and Bell grimaced at the prospect. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m impressed, but¡ªyeah, let¡¯s roll with it. Ask Misha how the recovery process feels.¡±

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°Got it,¡± I said, heading back out.

    Playing messenger¡¯s not too hard, turns out.

    I went back to Misha and asked the question¡ªand she just stared at me, confused. ¡°Did you say something?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I asked you how the recovery process feels.¡±

    ¡°How the recovery process feels?¡±

    ¡°Exactly that. Bell told me to tell you¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re doing it again,¡± Misha cut me off. ¡°Your mouth¡¯s moving but nothing¡¯s coming out.¡±

    Despite myself, I snickered. It really wasn¡¯t all that funny¡ªI could only imagine how terrifying it would be if it was happening to me¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t, and Misha didn¡¯t seem shaken up by it, so I didn¡¯t feel bad.

    I mean, she wasn¡¯t scared by it because she wasn¡¯t allowed to be scared, but that was neither here nor there.

    ¡°It just straight-up censors any sentence with Bell¡¯s name in it that¡¯s said to me?¡± Misha asked.

    ¡°What if I¡ª¡± I trailed off, and then said: ¡°The woman over there wants to know how the recovery process feels.¡±

    Misha shrugged. ¡°Nothing. It recognizes context, too, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Seems like it.¡±

    She scratched her cheek. ¡°Well, I guess we could probably work around this if I really wanted to, but it¡¯s not like I can actually hide anything from Loybol, and if she finds out I¡¯m doing this she¡¯ll actually knock me down a peg, and I¡¯m really not all that interested in that when we¡¯ve got a pretty good thing going, so¡­whatever. Let¡¯s leave it.¡±

    ¡°Kind of weird, though,¡± I said.

    ¡°I mean, sure,¡± Misha said, shrugging. ¡°But it¡¯s in her wheelhouse to do that.¡±

    I figured it was time for a subject change. The fact that she wasn¡¯t freaked out about having a nonconsensual censor stapled to her brain was starting to freak me out. She wasn¡¯t allowed to question the way things were¡ªor, actually, it was even worse: she was allowed to question, but not allowed to feel anything about it.

    ¡°Have you two been getting along?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Yeah. To be clear, we didn¡¯t have any beef anyway.¡± Misha looked away from me, out at the town. ¡°Loybol¡¯s totally fine. She¡¯s here because she¡¯s helping out a buddy, whatever, I can¡¯t really hold that against her. It¡¯s Prochazka that Nev doesn¡¯t like. Nev and Loybol are fine. They¡¯ve always been fairly civil.¡±

    I paused. ¡°Didn¡¯t this war start because of a prison break on Loybol¡¯s turf?¡±

    ¡°We needed some more guys to fight y¡¯all,¡± Misha said. ¡°It was a bit unfortunate that the prison was on Loybol¡¯s land, but sometimes you¡¯ve just gotta do stuff to get by.¡±

    ¡°I guess.¡±

    We were quiet for a bit. ¡°You know, it kind of sucks that you¡¯re all going to get dropkicked into the sun the second you go into the city.¡±

    ¡°You really think so?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she replied. ¡°The plan for taking out Ava¡¯s already half-done and Cygnus isn¡¯t going to be much of a challenge. Bell¡¯s going to abandon you as soon as the going gets tough, and then it¡¯s you alone, and we can handle that.¡±

    I tried not to feel anything. That was always the plan, right?

    God forbid I showed any weakness at any time, even in front of someone who¡¯d been completely neutered.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know what Nev¡¯s master plan is at all?¡± I asked her. I realized right after that we hadn¡¯t actually changed the subject to that yet, but Misha just went along. ¡°Nope,¡± she said. ¡°I know that he wants to get you alone and alive. After that, he hasn¡¯t told anyone else diddly-shit.¡±

    ¡°Weird.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Misha said, taking a seat in the grass. She leaned back on her palms and just laid there in the sun¡ªafter a moment, she took hold of the grass behind her and grew it out, widening the blades and weaving them together, puffing them out into a pillow, and then she laid down all the way. I sat down on my knees but didn¡¯t get any lower.

    ¡°I mean, I trust the man with my life,¡± she said. ¡°I literally killed myself for him, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    She said this while lying there, the warmth and glory of late July on everything the eye could tough¡ªbathed in a light I could only recall as the purest gold.

    ¡°I¡ªI guess so,¡± I said.

    ¡°Dude is brilliant,¡± she said. ¡°NYC runs like clockwork. You probably don¡¯t know because you¡¯ve never been, but nothing gets by Nev. People literally say that, like it¡¯s a slogan. Nothing gets by Nev. Because they¡¯re right. We¡¯re talking about some fifteen million people packed together in a city where shit you wouldn¡¯t believe happens every hour on the hour, and we¡¯ve managed to keep knowledge of magic under wraps for this long. Loybol¡¯s system is great for a smaller city that¡¯s a bit sleepier, but in NYC that goody-two-shoes shit doesn¡¯t fly. You can¡¯t bring a duster to a sword-fight. You¡¯ve gotta bring a gun, you know?¡±

    I didn¡¯t reply. I had been to the city, once, when I was young. My father took me to a few places on a vacation¡ªone of the two we ever took before I abandoned him. We went to an art museum, saw the Statue of Liberty, all those things. Someone must have told him that¡¯s what fathers do, occasionally, when they have some spare money, so he up and did it and then we never spoke of it again. Something to check off his list of fatherly duties.

    Again, I found myself wondering if he was still alive. What he was doing, if anything.

    If anything but slowly decomposing in a coffin, I mean.

    Misha returned to the previous subject. ¡°Do you really think you¡¯re going to win this war?¡±

    ¡°We do,¡± I said. ¡°Loybol does, Prochazka does.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but you didn¡¯t answer my question. I¡¯m not talking about the management. I¡¯m talking about you. Erika Hanover. Not Unit 6 collectively.¡±

    I frowned. Didn¡¯t reply.

    ¡°Since I¡¯ve been here, it¡¯s been weird,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten to see you all just bumming around, acting like you would on any other day, and¡ªI feel bad, you know? It¡¯s like watching a comedy from the fifties. It¡¯s funny and all, but you can¡¯t help but see the faces of everyone on screen and see corpses. They¡¯re all dead, but there they are¡ªlaughing and carrying on and all that. I mean¡ªI put in place a mission to kill you all, and it¡¯s working. It¡¯s going to work. It¡¯s practically already done¡ªbut here I am, shooting the shit with you, not allowed to feel anything too strongly about it. I can remark on it without a care just like I¡¯m doing now. I was talking to Cygnus yesterday, and we were talking about metal¡ªthe music, not his key¡ªand the whole time I was just standing there thinking, I know exactly how you¡¯re going to die. I¡¯ve already killed you. But dammit¡ªI kinda like the guy. He¡¯s got spunk. Bit of a weirdo but who¡¯s got a key and isn¡¯t? And¡­I feel that way about pretty much everyone I¡¯ve talked to here. Even you.¡±

    I blinked. That was the one thing she¡¯d said I couldn¡¯t shove away into the closet. ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not that weird,¡± Misha said. ¡°You¡¯re a kid. So what?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t freak you out at all?¡±

    She stopped looking up at me and turned her attention to the distance¡ªthe top of the brick buildings on the other side of the street, past the factory¡¯s big courtyard. ¡°Erika, do you know how many executions I¡¯ve ordered?¡±

    ¡°A lot, I guess.¡±

    Misha rolled her eyes. ¡°God, so many. I¡¯ve ordered the executions of all your friends. I had Benji killed. I ordered the old guy in the building in White Plains to put the bombs upstairs. There was a third one, by the way, that we didn¡¯t need. I called the hit on Bell. I¡¯ve had so many dissidents put to death that I couldn¡¯t even tell you how many digits the number has. And now I¡¯m sitting here, chatting with you, because I agreed to throw my life away for the cause¡ªjust like y¡¯all are supposed to¡ªand because I know that what¡¯s in store is ironclad. It can¡¯t be stopped. None of you can be saved. You might think you can, but that¡¯s wishful bullshit. Trust me¡ªI¡¯d know, wouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    Cold in the July sun.

    ¡°So I¡¯m gonna turn your question around, Erika,¡± Misha said. ¡°Do you really think you¡¯re as fucked up as me?¡±

    In the past, I¡¯d have had no response to that. In the present, I figured that maybe I should have kept my mouth shut¡ªand here in the future I know with certainty that what I did was right. Even if I doubted it at the time¡ªand even if it made my face go red to do it.

    I had to make a stand, just to make all the times I didn¡¯t worth something.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied. ¡°I do. I dehydrated four people in the basement of White Plains because Loybol told me to make a scene for you and it worked. I saw the look in your eyes. Well¡ªI didn¡¯t see it, really, because I¡¯m¡ªbecause I¡¯m blind, but I felt it. I know you were scared. I know you saw something inhuman out there. I know that you¡¯re afraid of me, too. Don¡¯t act tough just because Loybol¡¯s stopping you from feeling anything. You¡¯ve got no idea what Neville wants with me and that freaks you out a little bit, even if you don¡¯t¡ªif you don¡¯t want to admit it to me.¡±

    I sucked in another breath. It was too late to stop now¡ªthe sentiment had existed within me for so long that I couldn¡¯t begin to date it. From somewhere in my heart I found its home. Next to the closet stuffed to bursting with all the things I¡¯d pushed away there was another place, one I rarely ever visited in fear of what I¡¯d find. A chained-up chest in a remote room in a locked building staffed by nobody.

    I went there now¡ªopening the doors, going down to the room, severing the chains¡ªand I found it again. Anger. Burning. A visceral hell that, justified or not, I kept tied up so tightly that I wasn¡¯t even sure if I was allowed to access it, even though it was mine¡ªeven though it was my heart. Like my own feelings were off-limits. As if anyone would ever have the nerve¡ªthe absolute fucking gall¡ªto tell me I wasn¡¯t allowed to feel something.

    Only I could make that call. Only I was allowed to deny myself that right.

    I said to her, in a slow even tone to keep myself steady, and to give myself time to plan ahead: ¡°Deep down, you know that if I¡¯m still alive and conscious when that first snowfall hits, you¡¯re all dead. All your best laid plans are worthless. I will find every single person that had a hand in killing my friends and I will rip them apart alive. You¡¯ve already seen what I can do when I don¡¯t have an opinion one way or another. Wait until you see what I can do when I do.¡±

    Misha, to her credit, did not wither. ¡°I believe it,¡± she said. ¡°And if it comes to that, I¡¯ll accept it. I didn¡¯t get this far by being a sore loser. Just know this, for reference¡ªLoybol¡¯s keeping me around to be her head of operations. She¡¯s going to need someone like me when all of this falls apart and we have to go on clean-up duty for a few years while the world re-calibrates. So when you go on your crusade, keep that in mind.¡±

    I said something then that I did not plan. ¡°We¡¯ll get there when we get there.¡±

    Misha cracked a smile at that. ¡°You know, Erika, I¡¯d always pegged you as sort of listless. Glad to see that¡¯s not true. There¡¯s something in there, you know. You should let it out more often.¡±

    That, however, I didn¡¯t have a response to.

    She slowly got to her feet. ¡°Go get food with Bell or whatever,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m melting out here so I¡¯m going back in. Have fun, and if we ever come to that future¡ªwell, I¡¯ll be waiting for you.¡±

    ¡°Noted,¡± I replied.

    I did not look back at her as she left. For a moment, I was alone. She gestured at the door¡ªpresumably for Bell¡¯s benefit¡ªand when it opened I heard the footsteps coming toward me.

    I heard them, but still¡ªI was alone.

 84 - Highly Unresponsive To Prayers (1) [August 1st, Age 15]

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

 85 - Highly Unresponsive to Prayers (2) [August 1st, Age 15]

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

 86 - Highly Unresponsive To Prayers (3) [August 1st, Age 15]

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

 87 - Highly Unresponsive to Prayers (4) [August 1st, Age 15]

Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

 88 - Polaris Inverted (1) [August 1st, Age 15]

    We stood in our row¡ªCygnus, then Bell standing up straight for a full eight inches over him, then Ava who refused to look anyone quite in the eye, and then me.

    We all stood with our hands folded behind our backs, at ease, like true professionals. Like real soldiers before the sundown.

    We all knew exactly what we were walking into.

    This, as Prochazka explained, was the plan:

    It was too risky to simply drive up to the building in Manhattan that Misha had mentioned. Our leadership had ascertained that there was no guarantee that the adversarial Neville Nguyen even lived in that building anymore. Our data was only as good as Misha¡¯s time of capture, and Misha admitted she hadn¡¯t received any orders from New York in almost two weeks when we got her.

    So, before we marched in and gassed the place, we had an obligation to verify that anything was there at all.

    This sat unpleasantly with us. If it turned out that Neville wasn¡¯t there, and that all of this was a ruse we¡¯d fallen for, then we were completely up a creek. Neville would take his victory lap and we¡¯d get picked off by assassins posed in high city windows, perfectly undetected.

    This was our only lifeline.

    Prochazka remained confident. ¡°He¡¯ll still be there,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s too much work to actually relocate a headquarters, especially one that¡¯s been in use for as long as Neville¡¯s. The New York gang in its current form has been running things over there since the mid-nineties, and while I¡¯m sure there are loads of secret basements in Manhattan, there¡¯s probably fewer than you might think. On top of that¡ªNeville has an interest in actually being where he says he is.¡±

    ¡°He does?¡± I¡¯d asked, falling for it hook, line, and sinker.

    Prochazka nodded, eyes closed. ¡°He wants to see you personally, doesn¡¯t he? Knocking someone out and dragging them halfway across the country is harder than it sounds.¡±

    I pursed my lips and did not speak again.

    ¡°Neville¡¯s plan,¡± he said, ¡°is to lure us over there and catch us off-guard somehow. We¡¯ll be walking into enemy territory, so¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, we¡¯ll be walking into enemy territory,¡± Ava said, low. Gesturing back at us. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you¡¯re gonna do shit.¡±

    Prochazka stopped. Raised an eyebrow. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    Cygnus leaned back slightly and glanced at me, around Ava¡¯s back. Bell didn¡¯t, but she cracked a tiny smirk that was just enough to show me we were all on the same page.

    The three of us, yesterday, had discussed this as a possibility. Ava had too much rage to be totally bottled up, and given that killing me was out of the question, the next best thing would be to snap at the man upstairs.

    All these orders to protect me had to come from somewhere, didn¡¯t they?

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna sit here and watch us die,¡± Ava said. ¡°What part of that didn¡¯t make any sense to you?¡±

    Ava was still fairly disheveled, despite cleaning up quite a bit today. In the past week she could¡¯ve passed for one of the homeless drunks we occasionally saw in town on late nights, but when I came across her in the hall today she¡¯d seemed better. I only caught a passing reference, but she was standing up straighter, sober, her hair not quite as matted. I had no way of telling what the look in her eyes was like, but I could easily imagine it: still dull, still dead. Empty. Like mine, or at least, what she saw in mine.

    And to think I used to want to model myself after her. Now it was more like the other way around.

    A lot of that had slipped away by then, though. She wasn¡¯t standing up as straight as she had been that morning. She swayed a bit. Biting her lip to keep the words in order¡ªmaybe she was drunk, maybe not. I wasn¡¯t sure and I didn¡¯t want to get close enough to her to smell the booze on her breath.

    I had my guesses, though.

    ¡°Ava¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she snapped. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Really. I¡¯m okay. I mean, fuck this, right?¡±

    Her words dropped out of the air and nobody moved to pick anything up. She continued. ¡°You¡¯re sending us to die, Jan. This is a suicide mission.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a suicide mission,¡± Prochazka said. He did not move. His face didn¡¯t change. All of this went straight through him. ¡°It¡¯s the next step. That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°No. You don¡¯t get it. I told you, it¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t care that this is a suicide mission. I just want you to say it. Just once, when you say you¡¯re giving us the business, I want you to actually fucking tell the truth. We¡¯re all gonna die.¡±

    ¡°I know you¡¯re upset about Yoru,¡± Prochazka said, slowly. ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°You think this is about Yoru? God, Jan. I miss him every day but I¡¯ve been over that shit for days. Love comes later. I don¡¯t have time to worry about petty shit like that right now. All I want you to do is say what we¡¯re all thinking. I don¡¯t care about the mission¡ªI¡¯m gonna do it no matter what. I¡¯ll die for you, you piece of shit. You know it, I know it, we all know it, and it doesn¡¯t matter because I¡¯m still gonna go out there and try. And I don¡¯t know if that says more about you or me.¡±

    Earlier this week¡ªmaybe yesterday, maybe the day before that¡ªCygnus, Bell, and I all put five dollars in a pot on Ava. Cygnus won if Ava said something about Yoru, Bell won if Ava lashed out at Prochazka specifically, and I won if she cried.

    It turned out that we were all getting our money back. Oh well.

    ¡°You¡¯re brave,¡± Prochazka went on.

    ¡°Brave?¡± Ava asked, shaking her head. Fists hard. Tears down her cheeks like streaks of ice. ¡°No, Jan, I think I¡¯m just retarded.¡±

    Bell rolled her eyes. Nobody seemed to notice it but me.

    I thought Bell was going to leave it at that, but then she decided against it at the last second. ¡°Are you done?¡± she asked, glancing at Ava. ¡°Can we let the adults talk now?¡±

    Bell generally wasn¡¯t the type to publicly choose violence like that, so Cygnus shot me another look, to which I could only respond with a returned glance and a shrug. I¡¯d had this crisis already. Ava could do this shit on her own. She certainly didn¡¯t need my help.

    Ava pursed her lips. ¡°Oh yeah. I¡¯m done. That¡¯s all I wanted to say. To be honest, I just wanted to scream for a minute. I¡¯m gonna get so unbelievably fucked up that I¡¯m not going to know what direction the sun¡¯s in, and then I¡¯m going to choke out a bunch of people with vines, and then¡ªI don¡¯t know, maybe I¡¯ll hang myself or something. I haven¡¯t gotten that far. But I finish what I start, at least, and I started this, so I¡¯m seeing it through one way or another.¡±

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Five of the six of the assembled outside of the two active parties were more-or-less equally confused. Esther glanced at Loybol, who didn¡¯t say anything. Cygnus and I shared our looks. Bell had her eye-roll.

    Eliza, who¡¯d been uncharacteristically silent throughout this whole thing, was the only one who seemed like she¡¯d seen this coming. They¡¯d been talking a lot, hadn¡¯t they?

    Maybe this was rehearsed.

    Ava cleared her throat. ¡°I¡¯m done, Jan. I¡¯ve said my piece. Go ahead.¡±

    Any evidence that she¡¯d been crying was gone. Wicked away like the tears were never there.

    It was an act convincing enough to me that my mind started to wander to quarters: maybe, with my last few seconds here at home, I needed to go back up there and find that old styrofoam cup I kept in my single drawer of clothes that held all my spare change, so I could split my five in half.

    It could be said that Ava would mention her lost love, and it could be said that she¡¯d lash out at Prochazka, but no matter what it came to, it could not be said that she¡¯d cried. I was almost certain she did¡ªbut in that moment I remember second-guessing.

    I guess she¡¯d always have that over me, no matter how many times I told myself I wouldn¡¯t cry for anything anymore.

    0??0??0

    Prochazka finished his talk with the details. We had rooms booked for us in the hotels that flanked our target building: one toward the front and one toward the back on the left side, and one in the center on the right, making a rough triangle that surrounded Neville¡¯s supposed home.

    This obviously excluded me, who¡¯d be performing the role of bodyguard, rotating between the rooms as necessary to dissuade any would-be assassins. Hotel room windows don¡¯t open, usually, and especially not tenth, fourteenth, and eighteenth floor ones, which were the elevations we¡¯d be watching from.

    Normally I¡¯d be upset about being left out, but I was okay with it this time. Reconnaissance was mind-numbingly boring and I didn¡¯t want any part of it.

    I was told to rotate my shift every two hours, except on every third rotation, where I¡¯d go after an hour. This did have a vulnerability where the three watchers would be alone in the ten minutes it¡¯d take for me to run across the block to the next hotel, but that was the best we could do with only four soldiers.

    Technically, we could¡¯ve had eight, but that wasn¡¯t on the table. The brass did not ride into battle.

    ¡°But above all else,¡± Prochazka said, finishing his talk. ¡°Use your discretion. You¡¯ve been on enough missions now to have a sense for it. I trust you all the make the right calls on the fly. Esther won¡¯t be able to get info to you in any reasonable time frame, and I¡¯m not giving you cell phones. The enemy¡¯s cell phones are what got us this far in the first place¡ªwithout Sal¡¯s phone, I don¡¯t think we¡¯d be anywhere near this close to victory.¡±

    At the sound of that word, my breath caught. He still believed, didn¡¯t he? If he did, then I needed to, as well.

    But then I thought about it a second longer and I realized that the statement was completely meaningless. He was obligated to say that. What else could he possibly say? This is our last chance; we¡¯re about to lose? Even if that was the truth?

    No. He could never. What kind of general would he be then?

    I¡¯ve always thought of non-optional lies as a backdoor to truth. When the only choice is to fluff up a limp sentiment as the truth and parade it out to the masses, the correctness of it doesn¡¯t matter anymore: you have to believe, you must believe. At that point, what¡¯s the harm in swallowing the bait?

    So I closed my eyes and I swallowed my fear and I did my very best to believe.

    And that¡¯s all I have to say about that, I suppose.

    0??0??0

    We were instructed to take public transport as far as we could, so we all walked over to the bus stop in town about an hour later and waited there for our ticket to the front lines.

    I wasn¡¯t looking forward to going into the city. Syracuse was right around the maximum city size I could handle. Even back in the old days, when my father took me to a few museums in New York, I¡¯d been uncomfortable with the sheer number of people there. There was simply too much going on. I couldn¡¯t possibly give every little thing the time of day it deserved.

    Even though I was older, that part still worried me. I might¡¯ve been better at ignoring random small stimuli like that, but bouncing droplets around to keep my surroundings steady in a place as hectic as that sounded just as hard. All I¡¯d done was trade one hobble for another.

    As if that¡¯s not the story of my life. At least there was a coffee shop on every corner, from what I¡¯d heard, so as long as I could keep myself sleeplessly wired for four straight days I¡¯d survive.

    The other alternative was to get absolutely blasted in the hotel minibar before we started to try and relax, but I was going to have to be quick, so ¡°jittery but alert¡± was preferable over ¡°relaxed to the point of lethargy.¡±

    Ava, as she¡¯d said while talking at Cygnus on the bus, was looking forward to the trip. She was from the actual city-of Chicago, and she absolutely hated any half-assed signs of civilization.

    ¡°Either pack everyone together or don¡¯t,¡± Ava said. ¡°This shit¡ª¡± she gestured out the window at the rolling farmlands the bus was probably rumbling past¡ª¡°should¡¯ve been fully automated a long time ago.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re the nature-key,¡± Cygnus replied, blunt. His eyes did not leave the book he¡¯d brought. ¡°Go on, hop to it.¡±

    ¡°I would, but I¡¯m dead as fuck,¡± she said. ¡°Ain¡¯t no way I¡¯m getting out of this alive.¡±

    She said that with a borderline grin. We sat in a square cut-out of the bus¡¯s interior, Bell and Ava in the two seats in front of us and Cygnus and I together behind them. Ava spent most of the trip turned around, arms draped over the back of her chair, with both Cygnus and Bell desperately trying to ignore her.

    Bell had it easier, given her position near the window, but it was tough for Cygnus.

    ¡°Awfully cheery for a death-row inmate,¡± Cygnus said back, with the same treatment as before.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I feel like I should be more upset than I am, but¡ªthings are just really clear now. I don¡¯t know, Maybe I overrated autonomy. Maybe I just wanted to be pointed at shit.¡±

    She gestured vaguely at me. ¡°Maybe Erika was right all along.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°Um¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get the wrong idea,¡± Ava said, still bright. ¡°This isn¡¯t an apology. If anything, I should¡¯ve been meaner to you.¡±

    That more or less passed straight through my head. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°The only person I owe an apology to is Bell,¡± she went on.

    Bell perked up at the sound of her name. Like Cygnus, she¡¯d brought a book along for the bus ride. She must have figured that was her cue, because she closed her book and joined the three of us in the conversation, if this could really be called one. ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Ava didn¡¯t quite turn to face her, but she angled herself slightly enough. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have called you weird. I totally understand why you don¡¯t want to associate with us.¡±

    ¡°No, you really don¡¯t,¡± Bell said, flatly. She looked down at her book again.

    ¡°Seriously, no. I do. I get it.¡±

    ¡°You realize that if you get taken hostage, I¡¯m letting you die. Right?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. The feeling¡¯s mutual.¡±

    I don¡¯t think Bell was expecting that, but given the pattern of Ava¡¯s responses I kind of was. ¡°Fair,¡± Bell said. ¡°Although I don¡¯t think you have to worry about me being taken hostage.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Cause they¡¯ll just shoot you.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll certainly try,¡± Bell said, committing to her decision and reaching for the book again.

    We fell quiet. Bell and Cygnus turned back to their books. I didn¡¯t bring anything of the sort¡ªand out of force of habit I angled myself toward the window as if I could see out of it.

    Ava saw it and chuckled. As soon as I heard that¡ªas a whip-crack across my neck¡ªI flushed red and reached up to the latches to open the window a crack.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, everyone. Chin up. We¡¯re almost done.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not,¡± Bell said.

    ¡°Are you just saying ¡°no¡± to everything I say, or¡ª¡±

    ¡°This might be the last mission, but there isn¡¯t a chance in hell this is actually close to the end.¡±

    Ava paused. ¡°You don¡¯t think he¡¯s gonna be there.¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Bell replied. ¡°If Neville had half a brain cell he¡¯d be managing this war through a Zoom call out of Bermuda by now.¡±

    None of us were willing to actually entertain that thought, as realistic as it seemed. Neville bailing and running this whole thing remotely would mean that everything we¡¯d fought for was completely null and void. It was just another entry in the long list of things that would do that: ¡°if Neville wasn¡¯t here¡± joined ¡°if Neville decides to just go scorched-earth¡±, ¡°if knowledge of magic gets out next week anyway¡±, and ¡°if Neville gets what he wants with me.¡±

    I shook my head and let them scatter. There was just a small handful of realities in which anything we did here meant anything to anyone and we just had to assume that one of them was the one we called home.

    But Bell¡¯s grimace didn¡¯t waver and I couldn¡¯t help but worry all over again.

    Ava eventually found an answer for her. ¡°We¡¯ll cross that bridge when we come to it,¡± she said.

 89 - Polaris Inverted (2) [August 1st, Age 15]

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

 90 - Polaris Inverted (3) [August 1st, Age 15]

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

 91 - The Neon Machine (1) [August 2nd, Age 15]

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

 92 - The Neon Machine (2) [August 2nd, Age 15]

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

 {Book 2 - Teardrop Two-Step} 93 - The Neon Machine (3) [August 2nd, Age 15]

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

 {Book 3 - Portrait of a Drowning} 94 - She Lives [N/A, Age 15]

    I¡¯ll warn you now: I don¡¯t remember much of this.

    We¡¯ll just have to make do with what I have.

    0??0??0

    Something vaguely sulfuric. I remember that much for sure. It was akin to Hell, I think, but maybe I was just imagining that. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time.

    Given the size and scope of my concussion¡ªthe blast had slammed my head against the back wall of that elevator hard enough to crack¡ªit wasn¡¯t really a surprise to me that I was having a hard time remembering the days when my head didn¡¯t ache and all my senses worked the way they were supposed to. It wasn¡¯t my first experience with a major concussion, but it was only my second, even if it was my second in a little under two months. Two or three, probably two. My first concussion was back in June, on my fifteenth birthday, and I knew it was at a minimum August now (because it was August 2nd when we attacked), but any number of days could have passed during my confinement and I¡¯d have been none the wiser. The exact dates and times of each of these random recollections from my heavily concussed¡ªand then heavily sedated¡ªdays elude me and I don¡¯t expect to ever find concrete proof of their occurrence.

    Like I said: I really don¡¯t remember much of this.

    From my vantage here in the future I can pick these memories apart with a more surgical eye, but I know enough to know that in the memory¡¯s present, things were much less clear. I remember, in my brief moments of clarity, being terrified. Teetering on the edge of a bottomless pit¡ªbelow a black-hole swallowing all and yawning wide above me. The light was gone, the future forfeited¡ªI was alone and I had failed.

    I had failed. That one rang the strongest. The skinwide sting of failure¡ªyou let yourself get captured, you didn¡¯t obey Benji¡¯s last request¡ªhis dying words, in a way. The droplets would not come. I sat in pure blackness. No light for my useless eyes and no moisture for my makeshift ones.

    Rotten licorice taste of failure on my lips, the stench of it through my nose¡ªand, I suppose, something vaguely sulfuric.

    This prison had been prepared in advance. They knew, full-well, what it took to contain me.

    I didn¡¯t have much of a choice in how I recalled this. I have to use this clinical air, or I get lost in the sheer scale of how badly I¡¯d managed to bungle the whole thing. From where I sit some seven years beyond this, and knowing what I know about how the next few years following this resolve, I can say with more certainty than any savvy reporter (who I¡¯d never sit down with) or any studious historian (who¡¯d never be able to dig this up) that my complete and total failure to accomplish the simple task that¡¯d been set upon me (kill¡ªkill! Them, yourself, everyone if that¡¯s what it takes) knocked over the first domino. In the versions of this universe where Cygnus, Bell, Ava, and I successfully navigate down that elevator shaft, disarming all the traps and dispatching all the combatants, right down to Neville Nguyen¡¯s office¡ªsmoothly removing his head from his neck and carrying it home, dragging it backwards behind us by his hair like the trophy of a dragon slain¡ªin all those variants, I think we get another few weeks, at least.

    I think things go down differently. They initiate in a way that isn¡¯t strictly my fault.

    The key lies with him¡ªas always, it doesn¡¯t strictly lie with me. As I¡¯ve said, revolution follows in my wake. All this flagbearing comes with a price, and that price is that you meet and are subjected to the whims of many powerful people, including a certain Neville Nguyen¡ªin other universes, dead; but in this one, alive.

    Alive and interested. Alive, and having gotten everything he¡¯d ever wanted.

    At the end of the day¡ªMisha was right. We weren¡¯t ready.

    We thought we knew what we were walking into, but we didn¡¯t. We may have had the guts to walk in there, sure, but what we didn¡¯t have were the guts to escalate. Nguyen¡¯s men had shot at us in public¡ªfirst in the backwoods of sleepy suburbs, and then through the windows of a house, and then it was bombs in daylight, in public¡ªin full view of the public.

    It was up to us to escalate. The ball was fully in our court on that. They¡¯d already shown a willingness to make a mess and deal with the clean-up later, and we had to follow suit or we¡¯d get left behind.

    There was no moral high-ground here, despite what Loybol and Prochazka may have so stubbornly believed. Wars are not won with good intentions alone.

    That, I guess, was lesson number one.

    If we truly wanted to win¡ªif we truly wanted one more day as much as Loybol preached she did¡ªthen it was up to us, to me and Cygnus and probably Eliza¡ªto simply collapse the building Neville¡¯s gang was based out of. Eliza could weaken the concrete, Cygnus could bend the I-beams out of shape, I could break the water-mains and clear the area of pedestrians. We create a national disaster and we deal with the clean-up later, from home.

    Nobody would ever know it was us. How would they? Magic, at that point, was still locked to the imaginations of crazy people.

    That was the correct solution. Nuke them from orbit. Take no prisoners. Show our strength in a manner and style befitting of us, the strongest collection of magical individuals in the world. Have Bell stand among the rubble and mash any survivors into gristle and slime. Have me stand with her and dehydrate the rest.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    No survivors, no prisoners, no war¡ªno more fighting. End the war.

    But instead, we tiptoed when we were supposed to torpedo, and we lost on the spot.

    With the wisdom of hindsight, I know that much for sure.

    0??0 ??0

    I came to those conclusions during my handful of lucid moments tied to a chair in that bone-dry room. I also, at some point, figured out¡ªmore or less¡ªhow they were containing me. It was right around how I¡¯d drawn it up in my nightmares¡ªclose enough to what I¡¯d dreamed that I¡¯d once wondered if that was how they discovered it. As if I needed any other ways to determine how I¡¯d dug my own grave.

    For starters, the room I was held in had industrial-strength dehumidifiers running twenty-four hours a day. The air in there was dry enough to keep my throat parched to the point of being barely able to create any noises beyond a low creak-rustle, and my nose scorched enough to spontaneously bleed every once in a while. More than once I woke up and found the front of my shirt soaked in blood, or a cotton swab stuffed into the offending nostril, or both, if my mysterious attendants noticed the deluge a bit too late.

    For food, they gave me dried fruit, crackers, hard chickpeas that hurt my teeth to crunch. Never a glass of water¡ªbut I found that, in one of my lucid times, that there was a sore spot on my arm that hadn¡¯t been there previously. Later on, when I recalled that moment, I decided that they must have been giving me water through in IV while I was unconscious¡ªthe absolute bare minimum to keep me going.

    And so I couldn¡¯t quite conjure any droplets. I could barely make enough saliva to swallow, let alone spit, let alone spread out wide and feel.

    Near as I could tell, I wasn¡¯t being drugged. There was a telepath standing outside the room that would wake me up for meals and such. As prophesized¡ªthere was very little I could do about that. I didn¡¯t even know where to begin with stopping an alien force from doing whatever it wanted in my empty skull.

    So it was a difficult system to set up, but not hard to manage once it was going. It required some amount of specialized medical equipment, but nothing a reasonably-skilled garnet couldn¡¯t handle without it.

    A telepath and a dehumidifier were, as it turned out, all it really took to freeze the strongest water-key in the world.

    0??0??0

    Some time later¡ªI have no idea when¡ªI was awoken, and then there was a voice.

    ¡°Are you up?¡± It came slightly augmented, through a speaker somewhere¡ªwhoever was talking wasn¡¯t in the room. A safety measure, even though there wasn¡¯t anything I could possibly do to stop them.

    And¡ªfrankly¡ªat that point, I¡¯m not sure I would have even wanted to.

    At that point, I¡¯d lost track of time completely, and I was rapidly losing track of language. The inconsistent way by which I¡¯d been awake or not made just about everything I could experience feel fake, or at a minimum, filtered. Without any semblance of sight, and with nothing to hear but the low dark whirr of the dehumidifiers and the air, and with nothing to taste but my own metallic dry mouth and the occasional drop of nose-blood and the rare sweetness of the dried fruit or the salt from the chips, I¡¯d found that I had to take refuge in the one thing offered to me: the complete and total silence, the detachment from all sense: deafness, sightless, touchless¡ªheartless, mindless, lifeless.

    I turned back into a stone.

    So when those words came to me through that speaker, I had nearly forgotten what language was. I didn¡¯t even know I was supposed to respond. What could I say? Physically¡ªwhat sounds could I make? Fear kept my tongue locked down. I wasn¡¯t sure what would come out of my mouth would resemble, in any way, a language spoken by man. In my mind it sounded like the raw-wailing, tongue-lolling drooling mutters of a full-eclipsed invalid. The dehumidifiers dragged my spirit out back and shot it. There was nothing to say or think¡ªany syllables would have had to come from the vocal chords alone.

    I had nothing to say that wouldn¡¯t immediately conjure the words associated with my failure.

    But¡ªwhen I heard those words, I moved. I still reacted, even if I wasn¡¯t fully aware of what I was reacting to.

    I could have let them kill me there and I screwed that up, too. A few more days and I would have reached nirvana, I was sure: just a couple more words to forget, a few more smells to lose, a bit more taste to wash away until I could be truly alone with the echoing empty chasm of my mind. Until I could fall backward and out, and I would never again have to worry or wonder.

    I was so, so close.

    But I perked up. Weak as I was.

    ¡°You are,¡± the voice said. What was the emotion again¡ªhappy? Relieved? I wasn¡¯t sure and not even the wisdom of hindsight can bail me out on that one.

    I didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t know how to.

    ¡°Well,¡± the voice said. I assume, now, that there was a camera, or a bunch of cameras, in that room that the owner of that gently-metallic voice had access to. ¡°If you¡¯re up and listening, we can talk.¡±

    Talk?

    ¡°I guess you probably can¡¯t,¡± the voice went on. It¡ªhe, I was fairly sure, although it was a bit high for a man¡¯s voice¡ªsighed. ¡°God. It¡¯s a little surreal, you know that? Seeing you like this after everything.¡±

    Blank.

    He cleared his throat. ¡°Well, listen up. My name is Matthew Biiri. I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m the telepath assigned to making sure you don¡¯t try anything fancy. We¡¯d like to take you out of here, but we first need your solemn promise that you¡¯re not going to do anything rash. It¡¯s not like this room is going anywhere¡ªand it¡¯s probably not going to be used for anything else¡ªso we can always just put you back if you mess up. But if you pinky-swear that you¡¯ll be a good girl, we¡¯ll fix you up to normal-ish and proceed. I can¡¯t imagine you can talk right now, so I¡¯ll settle for a nod. Okay?¡±

    The loss of language was wishful thinking. As soon as I processed where Matthew was going with it, the rest of his words were crystal-clear. The clearest thing I¡¯d ever seen.

    Nothing had ever been so obvious to me. Nothing ever desired more.

    I was so desperate for it that I opened my mouth and tried to speak, and the unholy cracking noise¡ªand subsequent cough¡ªthat erupted from my throat was enough to put my whole body in aches. Matthew chided me: ¡°Nods, Erika. Up-and-down or back-and-forth.¡±

    Up-and-down. Up-and-down.

    ¡°Thank God. Frankly, this whole thing was starting to make me really uncomfortable anyway. You held out way longer than I thought you would. I don¡¯t know what Prochazka was teaching you guys over there, but¡­¡±

    Matthew trailed off. ¡°Whatever. I¡¯m gonna get started. See you in a bit, okay?¡±

    And the speakers turned off, and I was once again locked in silence. I don¡¯t know when he knocked me out again for the rehabilitation. It¡¯s not like there was much of a difference between consciousness and darkness.

    But I know that I woke up in a softer place.

 95 - On Parempi Olla Tiet?m?tt? [N/A, Age 15]

    I awoke in that softer place and I could breathe¡ªand as soon as the air came through my nose and didn¡¯t hurt, I let myself hope, and as soon as I let myself hope I reached out with my magic for a source of water. Even just the air would do, really, as the sheer relief I felt pumped a bit of adrenaline through me¡ªbut I found one: a glass of water, on a table next to me.

    I took out what I needed¡ªmore than what I needed, and cast the droplets out wide, and I let out a deep breath. It was all I could do to not cry.

    I was alive.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take all of that,¡± a voice said from next to me. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to drink some.¡±

    It was the voice from earlier. Biiri?

    I pushed the droplets over to him¡ªcoming on stronger than I wanted, so he probably knew I was looking¡ªand found a man there of slightly under-average height, thin, with a tight t-shirt and similarly tight jeans, side-swept hair and an oddly small nose. Around his neck were a pair of over-ear headphones with no cable¡ªeither a Bluetooth model or an older, wired pair with that wire removed and worn purely for fashion. For whatever reason, either option seemed equally likely to me.

    For a moment, I let myself feel that relief and joy¡ªand then I remembered where I was and why I was here, and it all vanished again.

    I almost let go of the droplets.

    ¡°Take a breath,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna hurt you. Neville¡¯s been real clear on that.¡±

    I did. I took a breath and let it out.

    I sent the droplets around the room, just to think about anything else. I was in a hospital room¡ªa real one, not the approximation we had at the Radiant. It must have been a special branch of some New York hospital where they didn¡¯t ask all that many questions.

    Outside of my bed (soft, clean), there was a small table upon which stood a bulbous lamp and the glass of water I¡¯d used as a source. Matthew Biiri sat in a chair near the door. Past him was an empty countertop upon which would normally be some medical instruments, I think, but instead only had empty jars. They¡¯d cleared the place out for my arrival.

    This, I figured, was also part of the plan somehow.

    ¡°You know,¡± Matthew said. ¡°I kind of thought you¡¯d be taller, for some reason.¡±

    I turned toward the source of the sound. He went on: ¡°I mean, they told me you were a kid, and¡ªwell, you are, but like¡­I kind of thought you¡¯d look bigger. Delinquents on TV are always tall, regardless of gender, but¡­Jesus, you¡¯re tiny.¡±

    I was around normal height for the age I looked, so I didn¡¯t lean into that statement much. I found I didn¡¯t want to say anything to him, anyway.

    ¡°You know, you killed pretty much all of my friends,¡± Matthew continued.

    He said it in such a matter-of-fact way that I didn¡¯t quite understand his meaning at first.

    Matthew went on. ¡°I used to talk to Weston a lot. Do you remember Weston?¡±

    I narrowed my eyes. The name sounded vaguely familiar¡ªI thought I knew it from somewhere¡ª

    ¡°Well, he was the sniper that almost got Bell. Most of the folks who went out on missions against your Unit 6 didn¡¯t expect to come home again, but he did, since he was going to be so far out of the action. I remember, when we were talking the night before he left, that he thought the whole thing was no big deal. He¡¯d be a mile away from you and there wasn¡¯t a chance in hell you¡¯d be able to catch him, even if he missed.¡±

    Matthew cracked a sly sort of smile, snorted a little. ¡°It took us a day to find his body, but that¡¯s because we were looking for a body, not a puddle.¡±

    I took a breath and tried to speak, but my throat was still too dry, and the rush of air coming in just made me cough hard.

    He gestured to the glass of water. ¡°Drink before you talk. I can get more for you if you need it.¡±

    I reached over for it¡ªnot looking, but knowing where it was perfectly well anyway¡ªand brought it to my lips. Tipping it forward with the intention of only taking a little sip¡ªI knew I was supposed to take it slow¡ªbut as soon as it touched my parched tongue my willpower snapped and it was all I could do to not chug the entire thing.

    God¡ªit was so sweet, and so good.

    I had no idea how long it¡¯d been since I had an actual glass of water to drink.

    Matthew leaned over to the door, opened it a crack, and said to someone outside, ¡°Hey¡ªget us another glass, okay?¡±

    I finished the glass, sucked in a deep breath. Didn¡¯t cough, and God, I could have cried.

    I think I remember trying to, back in that room, and not being able to conjure even that much.

    ¡°Can you believe they¡¯ve got two armed guards out there?¡± Matthew said, sticking a thumb behind him. ¡°Seems unnecessary if you ask me.¡±

    Now that my throat hurt a little less, I tried to speak again. My voice was still raspy and low. Weak-sounding from disuse. ¡°You don¡¯t sound all that torn up about it,¡± I managed, to Matthew¡¯s surprise.

    That said¡ªmy throat did hurt after talking.

    ¡°Man, you sound like shit,¡± he said. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have a reply to that. After a moment, he added, ¡°Oh¡ªoh, you weren¡¯t talking about the guards. You meant the friends comment, right?¡±

    I nodded. It was easier that way.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, exhaling. Crossing his arms behind his head. ¡°Us Biiris aren¡¯t a particularly emotional bunch. It¡¯s kind of a family policy.¡±

    There was a knock on the door, and Matthew opened it a touch again to receive the glass of water passed to him. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, flashing the guard behind the door a thumbs-up with his free hand, and then he stood and walked the glass over to my nightstand.

    Returning to his chair, he said, ¡°I was pretty good friends with most of the strike team tasked with picking you guys off. All the people with keys around here hung out with each other and not a whole lot else, so we were all fairly close. I think Unit 6 was like that too, right?¡±

    I nodded again.

    ¡°Makes sense. Like attracts like, right? Anyway, out of the¡­forty¡­two? I think it was forty-two of us that we started this war with, we¡¯ve only got twenty-three left. So you can imagine how well everyone else is taking that.¡±

    I pursed my lips.

    ¡°Me, I¡¯m not too upset. I mean, I miss my friends, sure, but it¡¯s war, you know? This kind of thing is why we get paid the big bucks. If there wasn¡¯t a risk, we wouldn¡¯t be getting fat stacks.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s weird,¡± is all I could manage before the scratch in my throat stung too much. I took the fresh glass and had another sip¡ªa slightly more disciplined one this time.

    ¡°It¡¯s the family training,¡± he said, shrugging. ¡°Everyone in my family works in a position kind of like this somewhere for someone-or-other. It¡¯s our business. We¡¯re good assistants. The best around, really.¡±

    I didn¡¯t even know where to start with that, so I didn¡¯t. Luckily for me, Matthew was very fond of the sound of his own voice. ¡°That¡¯s why they picked me for this. My family¡¯s honor rides on me being civil with you, so I¡¯m gonna be. God forbid they got Jessie or Johan on this. I think Johan would have just killed you and then turned himself in. Jessie probably would have left you in the dry room for a lot longer.¡±

    After a second, he added, ¡°Jessie and Johan are the other two telepaths.¡±

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    I shrugged, which conveyed I figured well enough.

    Matthew stretched his legs out. ¡°And before you ask, no, I don¡¯t know what Neville wants with you either. My boss knows, but he told me not to tell you. I think Misha knew, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Misha didn¡¯t know,¡± I croaked.

    ¡°Pardon?¡± he asked.

    I took the glass and drank some more. Once my throat was a bit more lubricated, I elaborated: ¡°We captured her and Loybol assimilated her. She didn¡¯t know.¡±

    Matthew raised an eyebrow. ¡°No shit.¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°Huh. So if she didn¡¯t know, then¡­¡± He counted on his fingers. ¡°Neville himself, Talia, Ivan¡­that¡¯s probably it. Wow, it¡¯s gotta be something pretty insane if he kept it from Misha.¡±

    I gave Matthew a halfhearted shrug. I still felt too generally weak to offer more than that.

    ¡°Well, whatever. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re talking and¡­you know, being reasonable. I was really worried I¡¯d have to push you down a bit more, but I¡¯m happy it¡¯s not coming to that.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure I had the strength to meaningfully fight back at the moment anyway¡ªbut given the scope of my treatment now, I also wasn¡¯t sure force was the right answer regardless.

    If they were willing to keep me alive and in functional health, the least I could do was sit, listen, and maybe figure something out later. And either way, Matthew was a telepath of at least adequate strength, I had no idea what to do against that, and if I did anything too out of line, there was always the dry room waiting for me again.

    And¡ªGod¡ªI¡¯m glad I don¡¯t remember much of that.

    As if on cue, he went on. ¡°Prochazka must have been a real motherfucker.¡±

    I looked at him. At some point during his earlier rambling, my attention had shifted back toward the center of the room, away from him, but at the sound of Prochazka¡¯s name I re-aligned.

    ¡°It¡¯s so weird how you just, like, know where I am even though you¡¯re blind,¡± he said.

    ¡°I can hear you,¡± I said.

    ¡°No, like¡ªyou can look me in the eye.¡±

    ¡°I think I could do that with just the sound of your voice.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± he replied. ¡°Either way. He told you to push an icicle in your own skull if you ever got caught?¡±

    I went cold. He was a telepath, so there was no use in lying¡ªno use in locking up.

    Slowly¡ªachingly¡ªI nodded.

    The tip of that icicle still rang cold and clear on the side of my temple like a sinus headache.

    ¡°And you were gonna do it?¡±

    Again¡ªa nod, nothing more.

    He shook his head in disbelief. ¡°God, you are stone-fucking-cold. No wonder everyone here¡¯s scared shitless of you. I don¡¯t know what gets done to a kid to turn them into you, but¡ªyou know what? I don¡¯t want to know.¡±

    ¡°Your guess is as good as mine,¡± I said, dully.

    He snorted. ¡°At least you¡¯ve got a sense of humor.¡±

    ¡°Nobody¡¯s ever said that to me before.¡±

    Matthew shrugged. Glanced over at the door. ¡°Well, some people find humor in hopelessness, you know? I mean, the war¡¯s over now, right? We¡¯ve got you. That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°Cygnus, Bell, and Ava are still out there,¡± I said. And as soon as the words left my mouth I found myself doubting.

    ¡°Ava¡¯s dead,¡± Matthew said. ¡°Jason got her about half a second before Bell turned him into sludge. I think Cygnus and Bell got away, though, so I guess you¡¯re technically correct.¡±

    ¡°The best kind of correct,¡± I mumbled automatically, repeating something Benji had often said that I hadn¡¯t thought about in ages.

    He snickered again. ¡°Sure is.¡±

    One of the guards, I guessed, knocked on the door again. Matthew opened it a bit, and the voice from beyond said, ¡°Biiri, we¡¯re ordering food. You want anything?¡±

    The voice was artificially higher. Forced, somehow.

    ¡°From where?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Tacos.¡±

    Matthew made a face. ¡°From where, dude?¡±

    ¡°Antonio¡¯s?¡±

    ¡°Awesome. Get me a carnitas burrito, everything. Face-melter.¡±

    ¡°Got it.¡±

    The guard went to close the door, but Matthew curled his fingers around the edge of it and pulled to stop him. He turned back to me. ¡°Erika, you want anything?¡±

    ¡°Um¡ª¡±

    I wasn¡¯t all that hungry. Frankly, I was worried anything I¡¯d eat would go right back up, especially something rich. ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡±

    ¡°You should eat. Trust me, it¡¯s been a long-ass time since you¡¯ve had anything vaguely approaching caloric.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll just have what you¡¯re having.¡±

    ¡°You sure about that? The face-melter sauce is not a joke.¡±

    ¡°Without¡ªuh, without that.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    He turned back to the guard. ¡°You get that?¡±

    ¡°Um¡ªn-no,¡± the guard said back.

    ¡°Clone my order, no face-melter.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Now¡ªlet go of the door.¡±

    ¡°Gotcha.¡±

    Matthew let his fingers off the door¡¯s edge and the guard yanked it shut so fast I had to double-check to make sure Matthew hadn¡¯t gotten anything chopped off.

    And so did he, apparently. ¡°Jesus,¡± he said, flipping his hand over. ¡°Those guys.¡±

    He went back to sitting mostly upright and turned his attention back to me. ¡°It¡¯ll be thirty minutes or so. Be sure to eat slowly.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± I said. And automatically, I added: ¡°I¡¯m not a kid.¡±

    ¡°I mean¡­¡± Matthew shrugged, and that was all he had to say to get his point across. I turned away from the door, away from him, and pointed my eyes back toward my feet, poking out of the end of the hospital bed¡¯s sheet. On reflex, as soon as I noticed, I curled my legs in to make sure everything was covered.

    So much for not being a child.

    Matthew shook his head. ¡°I really can¡¯t stress enough how glad I am that you gave up.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure how I was supposed to react to that, so I didn¡¯t¡ªI hoped he¡¯d say more, since the pattern suggested he would, and I was rewarded for my patience. ¡°You know how long you were in there?¡±

    ¡°How long?¡± I asked, although it wasn¡¯t much of a question, truly¡ªI didn¡¯t really want to know.

    ¡°A month,¡± he said.

    I blinked. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s September?¡±

    ¡°Labor day,¡± he said. ¡°September 3rd. So, a bit over a month. A month and a day.¡±

    I reached back over to the table and took the glass of water. Sipped it slowly just to do something with my hands¡ªsomething to try and take my mind off the truly dizzying amount of time I¡¯d spent in the dry room.

    Thirty-one days. And I hadn¡¯t been rescued.

    ¡°Are they not coming?¡± I whispered¡ªnot really intending to say it out loud, but not really caring that I did.

    Matthew shrugged. ¡°If they did, I¡¯d be impressed. Security around here is tight.¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond. He, as was tradition at that point, went on. ¡°It was really something, y¡¯know. I mean, the narrative for most of the ground-folks when we started was that you were some kind of weird mutant monster-thing who killed for fun and didn¡¯t experience emotions, and that we weren¡¯t supposed to view you with any semblance of pity or anything, but¡­that was only for the grunts. People like me didn¡¯t get that memo. We were told that you were taught to be like that, and that¡ªwell, it wasn¡¯t really your fault. You were too young to fight back when Prochazka stole you away from your family. You were too young to know any better when he trained you to be¡­I don¡¯t know, this.¡±

    He gestured broadly at me. ¡°And it turns out the truth is somewhere in the middle, I guess.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t steal me away from anyone,¡± I said, hollow. My eyes, surely, just as blank out and in. ¡°I wanted this.¡±

    ¡°Did you?¡± Matthew asked me. ¡°Or did you just not want what you had?¡±

    Again¡ªI found myself silent.

    ¡°Keeping you in the dry room for that long was legitimately the hardest thing I¡¯ve ever done. I want you to know that. The family training tends to bleed any trace of empathy out of us, but¡­lord, it was hard keeping you locked in there for that long. You just kind of¡­I don¡¯t know, stared blankly at the floor. Like you were trying to cry and couldn¡¯t. It¡¯s probably a good thing you were catatonic. Doesn¡¯t seem like you remember much of that.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I said, quietly.

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± he said, and it almost sounded like he meant it.

    Matthew stretched, arms crossing high over his head. ¡°God. I¡¯m glad that¡¯s over. I know it¡¯s a lot to ask, but I hope there¡¯s no hard feelings here. I tried to not make it too miserable. I mean, I had to, so you¡¯d agree to be civil, but¡­it¡¯s business. You¡¯ve done similar stuff, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    I thought, briefly, of the untold dozens I¡¯d dehydrated in a similar manner.

    ¡°I guess,¡± I offered.

    ¡°So we¡¯re good, then?¡±

    He regarded me clearly then: looking me in the eyes near as I could tell. Chin held upright by the fist of his left hand, that elbow balanced in his right¡¯s palm, the whole assembly balanced on his crossed legs. He looked at me the same way a dog would look at a new table¡ªvaguely bemused, vaguely interested, but nowhere too close to either side.

    Just enough to look engaged.

    I couldn¡¯t imagine he actually cared. What reason did he have? He put me in the dry room for a month¡ªand by his own admission he didn¡¯t feel all that much. I didn¡¯t have a strong opinion one way or another on the Biiri family as he¡¯d described, but if it was all as he said, then it was only yet more proof that all of this was elaborate empathy-theater and it didn¡¯t matter what I said to him.

    What I did have, though, was the knowledge that I¡¯d been blown out by my own unchecked animosity too many times in the last six or seven weeks. Lashing out, or saying what I really felt, or whatever you wanted to call it, hadn¡¯t been a very successful strategy for me as of late. As good as it felt in the moment, the high was always short-lived, and the comedown never dulled: it stung just as hard and throbbing-wide across my skull the first time as every other.

    If there was one thing I learned from those last two months, one thing I could separate entirely from my success or failure at playing soldier, one thing I could lift from the twisted iron nettle of the war and the people that were shredded by it, it was this: I needed to pick my battles better.

    Dried out as I still was, nose stuffy and eyes cracked, reeling from the scope of time lost and people lost, brain still half-pickled from the catatonic haze¡ªand the true realization of where I was and what had just occurred not fully digested yet¡ªI knew that this wasn¡¯t a fight worth having.

    Just take what¡¯s handed to you, Erika, and don¡¯t ask too many questions. Doubt was what got you into this mess¡ªdoubt isn¡¯t going to get you out of it again.

    Those were my words. That was what I believed.

    And knowing Matthew Biiri was waiting politely for my answer only made the call easier.

    In hindsight, it¡¯s easier to dissect these events for what they were. In the moment I may not have known why there was an olive branch being extended to me despite everything I¡¯d done, but what I did know was that the universe didn¡¯t seem particularly interested in making sure I got my just desserts. I¡¯d been rewarded for heinous deeds more than once, and punished for trying to be kind just as often.

    In the moment I took this all to mean that I shouldn¡¯t ask questions about why I was being spared when I knew in my heart I didn¡¯t ever deserve to be let out of the dry room. If I was Matthew, I would have let Erika Hanover rot in there. Slowly, biologically¡ªwithout magic except to keep her still¡ªlet her experience the pain she inflicted on so many others.

    That seemed right. That seemed fair.

    But I¡¯ve learned that one¡¯s vantage in a moment is rarely ever enough to really tell what¡¯s being done behind the scenes. It¡¯s only later that you learn why anything is truly done¡ªand sitting there on the hospital bed, I could not possibly have understood the mechanism by which I was going to be saved.

    All that matters, I guess, is that I made the right call in the moment. I arrived at the correct answer even if I didn¡¯t know why.

    ¡°We¡¯re good,¡± I said to Matthew. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    And he smiled. ¡°That¡¯s wonderful, Erika.¡±

 96 - House of the Blind [September 3rd, Age 15]

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

 97 - Portrait of a Drowning {September 3rd, Age 15}

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

 98 - Staple Yourself Shut [September 3rd, Age 15]

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

 99 - Idle Hands, Idle Blood [September 3rd, Age 15]

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

 100 - To Be Kind [September 4th, Age 15]

    Believe it or not, the sun rose in the morning like nothing had happened. The natural lights came on over our room sometime around seven-thirty or eight and Matthew rose with them, turning the TV on for the morning news and watching it in stony silence until I came out of my room in my pajamas, rubbing my eyes, around nine-thirty.

    That was what Matthew told me, anyway.

    Incidentally, I found that the drawers in my bedroom were stocked with a variety of clothes. Far more than I would¡¯ve needed, to cover a broad array of styles. I hadn¡¯t had meaningful changes of clothes in ages¡ªnot since the war started, really¡ªand so I had a tendency to wear the same things over and over again, regardless of wear or tear on them. I remember opening the drawers that night, pulling out a matching soft top and bottom and not thinking about it too much. It was only in the morning when I realized that there was no way those things were just there¡ªobviously someone had stocked them for me.

    ¡°Morning,¡± he said, once I made my presence known.

    ¡°Morning,¡± I said back.

    He looked at me. ¡°Where did you get those?¡±

    ¡°Get what?¡±

    ¡°The PJs,¡± he said.

    The question caught me off guard. ¡°They¡ªthey were just in the drawer,¡± I said. I gestured back to the room, as if he needed to know which drawers they were.

    ¡°Really?¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°Did you know there was going to be clothes in there?¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°I just opened them out of¡­I don¡¯t know. Habit or something. And there¡¯s a lot of clothes in there. Day stuff, too.¡±

    Matthew frowned. ¡°That¡¯s odd. Would it¡ªwould it be weird if I asked to see?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, kind of,¡± I said, even though I personally didn¡¯t care much. There was no further violation of my privacy Matthew could commit beyond what he was already ordered to do. Going through my drawers seemed like small potatoes compared to psychic surveillance.

    ¡°Fair,¡± he said back, glancing down at the remote. ¡°Not sure why I asked that.¡±

    ¡°I can tell you what¡¯s in there,¡± I said. ¡°I was really tired last night. I don¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t really remember. I just know it¡¯s a lot more than I thought it would be.¡±

    ¡°Would you mind?¡± he asked, and I gave him a thumbs-up and went back into my room.

    The chest of drawers at the foot of the bed was well-equipped. By my count¡ªand including the five dresses hanging in the wardrobe next to the window that I didn¡¯t plan on using¡ªthere were around twelve full outfits there. It was only just then that I noticed, but there were even a few new pairs of shoes lined up near the door.

    Every piece of clothing was perfectly soft and brand-new.

    I emerged from the bedroom again and gave him the report, which he took without a change in expression. ¡°I guess you¡¯re going to be here for a while,¡± he said, slowly. ¡°And it¡¯s not like you got to pack for the trip.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t as foggy as I normally was in the morning. The month in the dry room had purged me of any caffeine habit I might¡¯ve had, but clearly my mouth wasn¡¯t aware of that yet, because I still asked if there was any coffee around. It must have been the smell that triggered it¡ªMatthew had made some for himself.

    ¡°There¡¯s a little French press in the cabinet over the sink,¡± Matthew said, without taking his eyes off the TV.

    ¡°How do I¡ª¡± I frowned. ¡°How do I use that?¡±

    ¡°Put the coffee grounds in the bottom, fill it with boiling water, let it sit for a few minutes, and the press the plunger down slowly,¡± he said. ¡°Then you¡¯re good.¡±

    That seemed easy enough, except for the fact that I couldn¡¯t quite reach the top shelf where he¡¯d stored the press from earlier. It was easy to find¡ªMatthew didn¡¯t bother drying it off when he used it and washed it a few hours ago, so it sat cool and blue up there on that shelf. I ended up turning the faucet on for a second, letting a snake of water out, and using that to drag the press and plunger out of the cabinet, catching it as it fell.

    Thankfully, he¡¯d left the bag of ground coffee out on the counter, so that was easy to get. I curled the water-snake into a tight spiral and left it hanging behind my head while I shook some coffee into the press¡ªI didn¡¯t know exactly how much to use and I didn¡¯t want to bother him again. Then I took the water I had, curled it into a ball, and started vibrating it. Within a couple of seconds, it was hot, and it was steaming within a few more. At that point, Matthew stopped watching TV and started watching me instead. I let the steaming ball of boiling water drain into the press, filling it up to the metal band that wrapped around near the top (I assumed that was the fill line) and placed the plunger on top, sliding the cap over it.

    Then I went over to my easy chair and sat down.

    ¡°How long should I leave it for?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Like three minutes. You can just boil water in the air?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s basically the same as freezing, just¡­I don¡¯t know. The opposite.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure why that¡¯s surprising to me,¡± he said.

    ¡°I just don¡¯t do it very often.¡±

    ¡°I guess.¡±

    He turned up the TV at my request and we both sat there for a moment. After a few minutes I located a mug and poured myself the coffee. Impatience got the better of me and I drew the coffee out 8of the mug, froze it into a ball in the air, and gently melted it back into the cup. Took a sip of the now pleasantly cool coffee.

    Matthew watched me do it in silence, and then went back to the TV.

    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± I asked him, between sips.

    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°Well, aside from all of last night.¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Yeah. Makes sense.¡±

    Matthew glanced at me for a moment, his face loose. I had to imagine the expression was wary¡ªnot a whole lot else made sense to me. He asked: ¡°What do you think?¡±

    ¡°About what Talia said?¡±

    He nodded.

    I, out of habit, turned my head briefly back to my room. ¡°I didn¡¯t believe it last night, but¡­now that I¡¯ve slept on it, it¡¯s¡­I guess it makes sense.¡±

    Matthew shook his head. ¡°If it¡¯s real, I guess.¡±

    He looked back at the TV, which was just playing ads at this point.

    I returned to my coffee, sipping it slowly and listening to the ads¡ªone about vacuums, one for a painting company, another for Pepsi. In the last one before the morning show returned (by my guess) Matthew broke his sullen silence again. ¡°You¡¯ve been betrayed before, right?¡±

    The coffee made me confident. ¡°Depends on your definition of betrayal,¡± I said.

    ¡°Someone you trusted went against you for their own benefit,¡± he replied.

    I thought back on that. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s ever really trusted me. Only tolerated. Bell and Cygnus were with me until the end, and Yoru, Ava, and Benji were never with me at all. I don¡¯t know if Prochazka was or not. I¡­I don¡¯t know about that one.¡±

    I made the gesture to go along with my next statement¡ªa little finger gun waved limply around my temple. ¡°Gun to my head I¡¯d say no. I¡¯ve never been betrayed. Everyone I¡¯ve ever been with has made their intentions for me pretty clear right from the get-go.¡±

    ¡°Even Prochazka?¡±

    ¡°I just said I don¡¯t know about that one.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the only one that matters,¡± Matthew said.

    I considered it, as the morning show returned from its break¡ªthe audience¡¯s applause climbing through my thoughts, the hosts shouting over the ravenous assembly, thanking them for existing and all that. ¡°Prochazka rescued me to fill the sixth slot on Unit 6. I filled that slot until the end. So¡­no. I don¡¯t think he betrayed me.¡±

    But that didn¡¯t feel quite right to me. Something about it was still off. So I added one last little bit: ¡°Maybe ¡®betrayal¡¯ isn¡¯t the right word for it.¡±

    Matthew raised his eyebrows at that. ¡°Huh.¡±

    I realized, just a touch too late, that I¡¯d opened a can of worms I couldn¡¯t possibly close again. Despite that, I tried. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He gave me a place to live when I didn¡¯t have one. He¡¯s always going to have that¡ªI mean, we¡¯ll always have that, you know, together. He¡¯ll always have done that for me, or¡­or something like that.¡±

    I frowned. I¡¯d shot myself in the foot with my mumbling.

    Matthew didn¡¯t seem to mind, though. He reached for the remote and turned the TV down¡ªnot quite to silence but low enough where his voice was the only focus point in the room. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I explained the whole Biiri deal to you,¡± he said. ¡°But basically, when we reach adulthood, we look for someone to latch onto and help. We¡¯re a family of helpers, it¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s the business we¡¯re all in. We¡¯ve done work for all kinds of folks throughout¡­ages, really. And I knew Neville was going places, I¡¯d heard about him from other folks in the family, so I agreed to come out here and do whatever he needed doing. I had a key then, so it was a pretty appealing deal for him, especially since Loybol kept poaching all the telepaths, so he was strapped in that department. And¡ª¡±

    He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Matthew dropped his thought mid-phrase and swiveled towards the sound. ¡°Who the hell¡ª¡±

    ¡°Talia?¡± I asked.

    He shrugged. ¡°Maybe? I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯m just gonna go get it. Stay here.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t planning on going anywhere, so I gave him a thumbs up and slumped a little deeper down to make myself less visible.

    Matthew mumbled to himself, as he went past me: ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be telling you this, anyway.¡±

    And he went over to the door, rubbing an eye, turning the knob¡ªand standing there was Neville himself.

    Matthew, upon realizing who was there, snapped to attention. ¡°Sir,¡± he stammered. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be here.¡±

    ¡°Is this a bad time?¡± Neville asked him.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s fine,¡± he said. ¡°Come in. Erika¡¯s over there.¡± He gestured to the easy chair, which was my cue to straighten up and raise a hand.

    I kept my mouth shut tight, though.

    Neville¡¯s presence entered the room before him¡ªa dark cloud that suffocated even the bright coffee smell with a kind of dampening field that pulled all awareness toward him. The man showing up unannounced occupied the entirety of my attention and thoughts. I found that I didn¡¯t much care about the morning show, or Matthew¡¯s fingers nervously working through each other, or the orientation of the remote on the table.

    I cared about my breathing, forced even and low, and about him¡ªand about his breathing, just as even, and just as slow.

    ¡°Hello again, Erika,¡± he said.

    ¡°Do you need something, sir, or¡­?¡± Matthew trailed off, eyes flicking between me and him.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to borrow Erika for a moment, if you don¡¯t mind,¡± Neville said.

    Matthew went to point to himself and Neville clarified. ¡°In private.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Again, Matthew¡¯s eyes went back and forth. ¡°Is that wise?¡±

    ¡°You tell me,¡± Neville said.

    I considered it again. I really did. Knowing full well that Matthew was both watching and listening, I found myself wondering what would become of me if I cut loose. If I did my absolute best to take out both Matthew and Neville, right there, right now. I¡¯d have to go after Matthew first, I knew, and I¡¯d have to do it faster than the thought could even register. I didn¡¯t know much about the logistics of telepathy as it related to this but I figured that Matthew would have to know what my intent to kill him felt like as opposed to actually reading a distinct thought, and I didn¡¯t know if he had that nailed down yet. Recognizing an image of an icicle going through his skull was one thing, but would he know to translate that red pulsing throbbing ball of spite and hate that sat gently glowing in some dark corner of my head as anything more than a white-noise background-drone? Would he know it as I did?

    Maybe. I wasn¡¯t sure. I don¡¯t remember thinking about this in direct terms¡ªI¡¯m trying to translate the feeling I felt as I remember it in that second. All of this occurred over maybe one second. It¡¯s a lot of description for what boils down to not a whole lot of actual thought¡ªbut then again, that kind of feels like par for the course for me.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    The actual set of actions that occurred in that second are as follows:

    Neville asked his question. Matthew looked at me, at my eyes, and read something in my head that I don¡¯t know about. I don¡¯t know what he saw¡ªbut I know what he could¡¯ve seen, if he looked in the right places, and if what he saw in my head matched what I saw in myself. That¡¯s not really how telepathy works, as far as I understand it¡ªpeople¡¯s thoughts resolve themselves according to an a format the telepath sets upon their subject, as Esther once explained it to me, so there¡¯s no guarantee the physical forms of my thoughts would translate¡ªbut that¡¯s the gist of it.

    I had my half-second consideration¡ªa limp ball of probabilities poorly calculated and only vaguely defined. No words were given to it. No proper images tacked on.

    And then Matthew looked back at Neville and said, ¡°Yeah, I think so.¡±

    And I found myself nodding along with that, because I¡¯d decided, after he looked away, that I couldn¡¯t kill both of them in time. I could get one but not the other, and that wasn¡¯t quite good enough.

    That aside¡ªI was curious about what Neville wanted. I wasn¡¯t sure I knew anything anymore, and I¡¯d flailed around in the dark enough times to recognize when I should hold my fire.

    So I paid attention.

    ¡°Just to be clear, sir,¡± Matthew said, slowly. ¡°You want me to back out of her head for a bit.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Neville said. ¡°That¡¯s what I said. As long as you think it¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead. If I can offer a recommendation, sir, I don¡¯t think you should take her for too long.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Neville replied.

    ¡°Okay.¡± Matthew turned to me. ¡°You should¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± I said, standing up and going over to my room. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a moment.¡±

    I closed the door behind me and set about getting changed. I didn¡¯t hear them say anything to each other while I did.

    000

    I came outside in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. I have no idea what color any of it was. Maybe it matched, maybe it didn¡¯t, but I knew it was hard to screw up jeans, so I figured I would look at least passable no matter what shirt I took.

    And I wasn¡¯t about to attempt any of the dresses in the wardrobe. Not unless I absolutely had to.

    Neville regarded me for a moment without a change in expression. He said, ¡°We¡¯re going to leave campus now. Would you mind backing out?¡±

    Matthew took a breath. ¡°Sure. Just¡­maybe be back in an hour or so? Sir,¡± he added, quickly.

    ¡°That was all I was planning to take,¡± Neville replied. ¡°I know this makes you nervous. If you don¡¯t think it¡¯s safe, tell me, and I¡¯ll come back some other time.¡±

    I can¡¯t say what Matthew was thinking¡ªbut I can guess at the calculations he was running, and I knew that the choice he was making there, on the spot, might have been the single most important one of his life. It was a leap of faith into a cloud of fog over a canyon. I¡¯d already made up my mind to tell him what we talked about¡ªbecause we¡¯d entered into a kind of uneasy alliance on this, even if we hadn¡¯t cemented it with words¡ªbut to him, who¡¯d never gotten a true confirmation that just this once we wanted the same thing, he simply had to guess.

    I said, in my mind: I¡¯m going to tell you. I want to know what¡¯s going on as much as you.

    My intentions in the moment may not be my intentions when I left. Who knew what Neville could say to me¡ªor where he was taking me, or what our plans were? Too many of those bridges had been eroded already.

    But Matthew looked back at Neville and said, ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s fine. Go ahead.¡±

    Neville nodded. ¡°Then you¡¯ve done well.¡±

    Matthew blinked. I expected him to hold in confused silence, but instead he asked: ¡°Sir, what does that mean?¡±

    And I expected Neville to give some kind of cryptic nothing-response, but instead he said: ¡°It means you¡¯ve been a good friend and a reasonable person, like I knew you¡¯d be.¡±

    And somehow that meant even less to Matthew than if he¡¯d said nothing at all.

    Neville turned towards the door, beckoning for me to follow. Something felt different in my skull, but I couldn¡¯t quite identify what it was.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be back in an hour or so,¡± Neville said. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Erika.¡±

    I let my eyes flick towards Matthew, who was looking back at me, face slack. The tone of his eyes would¡¯ve meant so much there, if I could get that¡ªbut I didn¡¯t, and even though I was holding his face in my metaphorical hands I found that our connection was so much less than it was a moment ago, now that we were back to strangers, and he had no more sight than me.

    000

    Neville and I stepped outside of room 608 and he let the door close slowly behind him.

    We began our trip down the hall toward the elevator, and about halfway there I worked up the courage to ask him for details. ¡°Where are you¡ªwhere are we going?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a bakery across the street that makes amazing muffins,¡± Neville said. ¡°Did you eat breakfast yet? I don¡¯t think I had anything other than coffee put in the cabinets.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I said.

    ¡°Ae you hungry?¡±

    ¡°A little,¡± I confessed, although it was equally offset by nervous nausea.

    ¡°I just thought we¡¯d get some muffins,¡± Neville said, ¡°And talk about the accommodations.¡±

    I could have killed him. It would¡¯ve been so easy. The air was humid enough, and I had my own saliva if nothing else¡ªand he was healthy. I could have dragged the water out of him like I took the base of his stomach in my cold fist and pulled it straight through his throat. Turn him inside out until everything above him was wet with his vital fluids and everything inside was bone-dry. I could have done it. It would¡¯ve been so easy.

    Standing right there in front of the elevator. Let him drop dead to the floor, step into the elevator, let it ride smooth and slow down to the ground. Dust my hands off on my brand-new jeans and walk right out the door.

    Mission accomplished. Problem solved.

    It would cost me nothing. It would¡¯ve been so easy.

    But I wanted to know. All of this had to be happening for a reason, even though my whole life up to this point was a conspiracy to make me doubt a logical universe.

    There had to be something. Limp as that declaration was¡ªthere just had to be something.

    So I said to Neville, ¡°Okay.¡±

    And I let any thought of rebellion in that moment drain out through my spine.

    Not now¡ªjust like everything else.

    Wait and see, Erika Hanover¡ªwait and see.

    000

    The place took me, out in the world I ignored intentionally, was right where he said it was¡ªacross the street and a few doors down. It was the kind of place businessmen went to get better coffee than the offices provided, or where trust-fund kids went to squat all day.

    The kitchen-area inside was enclosed in a big octagonal half-wall, and a bare lightbulb enclosed in a wire cage hung above every table. There weren¡¯t all that many tables in there, but there was a single open one, and Neville took a glance at it before he went up to the counter.

    All the pastries sat in a line of baskets behind the counter. I assumed there was glass in front of it, but it was open from the back because the people before us in line had gotten something. In front of each basket was a little smooth card that labeled the basket¡¯s contents.

    But before I could even ask, Neville said, ¡°They¡¯ve got chocolate chip, banana, blueberry, apple-cinnamon, and double-chocolate today. I recommend the apple-cinnamon one, personally.¡±

    He added after a moment: ¡°There¡¯s other stuff in there too if you don¡¯t want a muffin, but the muffins here are really good.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do an apple cinnamon one,¡± I said, reaching into my pocket for my loose debit card.

    Neville waved me off. ¡°Hi there,¡± he said to the cashier.

    ¡°Hey, Neville. Usual?¡±

    ¡°Two today,¡± he said.

    The cashier took a brief glance at me, and for a second my spine ran cold. But he didn¡¯t say anything to me or Neville, and the chill drained out. Neville added, ¡°And a medium coffee for me¡ªunless¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m all set,¡± I replied, distant.

    ¡°Just one then.¡±

    ¡°Gotcha,¡± the cashier said back.

    000

    Neville and I took our seats at the table he¡¯d scouted out earlier.

    ¡°I come here a lot,¡± he said. ¡°Every other day for the past few years, I¡¯d say. Pretty much all of the cashiers know me now.¡±

    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± I asked him, eyes titled toward the muffin sitting alone on the plate in front of me, as yet untouched. The question burst out of me and I never had a single snowball¡¯s chance of stopping it.

    Neville paused for a moment, sipped his coffee, nibbled his muffin. ¡°Call it atonement,¡± he said.

    ¡°Atonement,¡± I repeated, tonelessly.

    ¡°I said I wanted to save you,¡± Neville said. ¡°I meant it.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t muster strength in my voice. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Every word of what I told you in my office is true,¡± Neville replied to me, slowly. ¡°I know Talia and Matthew don¡¯t want to believe it, but it is. Nothing breaks a man quite like realizing he¡¯s become his own worst enemy. That day, I realized that in my quest to destroy everything Prochazka had built, I¡¯d become just like him, as¡­I don¡¯t know, clich¨¦ as that seems. I remember thinking that I¡¯d know if I went down a dark path, you know? Everyone always thinks they do. It¡¯s not until something makes you turn around that you realize how far you¡¯ve come. And when your life is as fast-paced as mine or yours, you don¡¯t get a whole lot of opportunities to do that.¡±

    ¡°So this is atonement,¡± I said, dull. I¡¯d condensed so many droplets around the muffin that it was starting to get meaningfully wet. I could already loosely perceive it even without any droplets¡ªthe cake itself was moist enough to show up very faintly, like a wisp of smoke, but that wasn¡¯t good enough for me. I needed it to be clearer. I needed to see every hole in the bread. Every contour of the top.

    Every little speck of cinnamon resolved and crystal.

    ¡°When I realized Prochazka and I were the same, I became very depressed,¡± Neville said. ¡°But I already explained that. It wasn¡¯t really depression. It was more of just¡­shock. Disbelief. Despite everything I¡¯d built, I¡¯d still somehow managed to fail. It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s not a good feeling.¡±

    He snickered a bit. ¡°Yeah, it sucks. But when I was sitting there, at rock bottom, I suppose, I realized that I still had a chance. I wasn¡¯t totally irredeemable. There was still a pathway out of this, a path that a lot of other people who¡¯ve hit rock bottom see. You see it with drug addicts who become motivational speakers. I could escape by helping someone else escape.¡±

    Neville looked down. ¡°But I knew I¡¯d already done so much to hurt you. It was the only chance I had, though, so I had to go for it. Without it¡ªor without realizing it, at least¡ªI think I might¡¯ve just given up, right there and then in my office.¡±

    He looked up at me now¡ªin my eyes, as best he could. ¡°So, yes, Erika, this is a selfish endeavor. If that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking. At the end of the day, it is. Although I think you can make a case for everything being that way, really¡ªnothing is ever done without a single shred of self-interest. I am hoping that I can save you, and in turn save myself. Selfish, yes, but it¡¯s honest. It¡¯s exactly what it says on the tin, Erika. Nothing more.¡±

    But I wasn¡¯t buying it. Enough people had tried to talk their way into my good graces that even this burst of so-called selfish honesty wasn¡¯t enough. In the past, when the simple act of telling me the truth would¡¯ve been enough to win me over, it might have¡ªbut I¡¯d seen too much now for simple words to sway me.

    So, in a low drone, I said, ¡°Is this the part where you put on some big show of force to prove something to me?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what people usually do, right?¡± Neville replied, sipping his drink.

    I nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to. If you really need one, you can look at the dry room, but that doesn¡¯t particularly count, since that wasn¡¯t really my doing. I needed a place to keep you where you couldn¡¯t do anything rash for a while before I could be certain that Matthew could handle you, and that we weren¡¯t going to get instantly rushed by Prochazka¡¯s remaining forces. But since we¡¯re sitting here talking, obviously I determined that Matthew could handle the responsibility of keeping an eye on you, and that I am reasonably certain that no, Bell and Cygnus are not coming to save you.¡±

    ¡°Or,¡± he added with a shrug, ¡°if they are, they¡¯re not doing a particularly good job.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± I said, with finality. It was the one thing I truly believed in. ¡°They¡¯ll find me.¡±

    Neville, on the other hand, didn¡¯t believe that for a second. ¡°We¡¯re sitting in public, in a coffee shop anyone can enter, with no guards. At any time they could simply come in here, stand you up, and take you out of here, and I¡¯d be powerless to stop them. I don¡¯t have a key, Erika. I¡¯m on the gray side of fifty years old. I¡¯m no match for Cygnus, let alone Bell. Hell, both of them could probably overpower me even without their magic. I¡¯m in passable shape, but I¡¯m hardly a bodybuilder. So I¡¯m reasonably confident that I¡¯ve navigated this whole endeavor to a place where it is safe for both you and I to wander around in public without a worry. If that counts as a show of strength to fit your definition, go ahead and log it, but I¡¯m not going to demonstrate anything else. There¡¯s nothing left to prove, and either way¡ªthat¡¯s not how I want to operate.¡±

    He picked up his cup and swirled it a bit, absently. ¡°Long term, it just doesn¡¯t really work all that well.¡±

    ¡°So you want to be a pacifist?¡± I asked him, cold. ¡°After you¡¯ve killed all my friends?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Neville said. With just as much finality as I had a few moments before. ¡°That¡¯s what it took to make me realize. People can change, Erika, and I realized that I need to if I want to build something true. Something long-term, that I can be proud of.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m here, then,¡± I said. ¡°Talia figured it out. She told us. You want me to be a¡ªa pity piece. Something you can trot out to show you¡¯re not a monster.¡±

    His face tensed up for a bit. ¡°A pity piece?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°What did she tell you?¡± Neville asked me.

    I paused¡ªunsure if this was crossing the line¡ªbut thought better of it after a second. The decision had to happen too fast for me to actually weigh anything. ¡°She said you were going to parade me out there as an example of, um, your humanity or something. When you show magic to the world. You¡¯d have me as an example of someone innocent you saved to soften the blow and show that we take care of ourselves and that people don¡¯t need to worry.¡±

    Neville fell quiet for a moment. It took longer than I expected for him to find a response. ¡°That¡¯s a pretty good idea.¡±

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s your plan,¡± I said. And when he gave no reaction to that, I paled, the blood draining from my face, the life dripping down through my spine. Hands went cold. ¡°Right?¡±

    Neville, slowly, shook his head. ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking about that at all.¡±

    And after another second, he added: ¡°I think I might do that, though. I¡­it¡¯s a collective lie we all tell ourselves. That we can keep this under wraps forever. We¡¯re¡ªat least, up here in the Northeast, this is how we feel¡ªwe¡¯re basically playing hot potato with the responsibility for shouldering the burden of the reveal when it happens. It¡¯s an endless game of whack-a-mole and it¡¯s only getting faster, and none of us like to admit it, but¡­it¡¯s true. I¡¯m sure you think about this too. Everyone on the front lines of this whole thing thinks about it more than their superiors want them to.¡±

    I sucked in a slow breath and tried to make my mind go blank.

    ¡°It¡¯s a nice story,¡± he said, looking back at the counter of pastries. ¡°Easily digestible. Not a lot of moving parts. A good emotional core. It¡¯s¡­don¡¯t let me give you the wrong idea, Erika. When magic comes out, it¡¯s going to be ugly. No amount of pleasant nursery-rhyme tales are going to soften the blow that much. I¡¯ve tried to run the numbers, I¡¯ve talked it over with Ivan and Talia, and we all kind of agree that when something blows up and we can¡¯t contain the fallout anymore¡­the low estimate is a few million people, the upper is a double-digit percentage of the population of the world.¡±

    He was practically mumbling now, just making sounds for the sake of making them. ¡°Ten, twenty, twenty-five percent. Mostly non-magicals. Make no mistake.¡± His voice went harder again as he found his footing. ¡°Magical people will win if there¡¯s a war. We¡¯re virtually undetectable, already in a bunch of positions of power across the world, and I can guarantee you, more well-connected people with keys have contingency plans for this than people without. I would assume the US has a fairly well documented plan for putting down a magical rebellion. It¡¯s probably deeply classified, but I¡¯d be willing to put money down that it¡¯s there. Smaller governments might not know about magic at all. And the United States¡¯ plan probably involves killing a truly biblical number of civilians. Which, after traumatizing a whole generation of youth, would lead to a huge spike in the number of keys created, which would prolong the war even further, and¡­well, you can do the math.¡±

    Neville sighed. ¡°Diplomacy is our only chance, but the US isn¡¯t particularly good at negotiating with terrorists that they¡¯re not getting anything from. Maybe we can set up some kind of mutually-beneficial relationship, but¡­I guess that all starts with how we phrase it. How we come off on that first encounter.¡±

    He straightened up. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to start mumbling about work.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I muttered¡ªautomatically, absently.

    ¡°How¡¯s the muffin?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s good.¡±

    He pursed his lips for a moment, turning down, thinking about something or other. He did that a lot. Neville went out of his way to plan his words.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much about the future,¡± Neville said. ¡°I have to because it¡¯s my job. But you¡¯ll be fine. I believe that.¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond.

    ¡°All you have to do now,¡± he said, slowly, ¡°and all I should be doing, is focusing within. My only task for you is to help me help you. And my only task for myself is to help you help me. If that makes any sense.¡±

    I let myself look up at him, with all the usual caveats. I was hoping, in a last-ditch effort, that my eyes would confuse him. Scare him. Something like that. I didn¡¯t know what I wanted and it¡¯s been too long now to say for sure.

    The thing he said after that haunts me to this day. It will never stop haunting me because of how true it was, and how I knew it, intrinsically, before it was said.

    ¡°History books will be written about how we conduct ourselves in these moments,¡± Neville said to me, quietly. ¡°All we can do is try and be people we¡¯d be happy to read about one day. Because everything we do is set in stone. It¡¯s far too late to pretend that neither of us will be in them: hell, the books will probably be about us. So don¡¯t worry about the future. You¡¯re not going to write those books, you¡¯re just going to be in them. Worry about now, and do what you think will be remembered most fondly.¡±

    Neville smiled, softly, and for a moment I became aware of the warmth of his face. The droplets I had around him were heated above the ambient temperature and they glowed a gentle orange-red, a wispy smoke-outline of a man¡¯s face¡ªa man looking at me, smiling at me, hands folded on the table, voice low, eyes low, speaking little words that I realized then that he meant with every ounce of his heart.

    There was no deception here. I was looking for a catch that wasn¡¯t there.

    Neville was changed. He was not the person I thought he was, and the longer I spent looking for the old version of him, the more confused and angry I would be.

    Neville said to me, ¡°And if you want this in simpler terms, I can give you some.¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°Just be kind, Erika,¡± he said. ¡°You and I just need to choose to be kind.¡±

 101 - A Victim of Modern Medicine [September 4th, Age 15]

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

 102 - Fable of the Skull-Peeler [September 11th, Age 15]

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

 103 - Angel in the Empty Room (September 11th, Age 15)

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

 104 - A Promise [September 15-16, Age 15]

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

 105 - Life Could Be Easy [September 16th, Age 15]

    And Matthew sat there, still. Silent for longer than I thought he could. When my words hit him and processed he simply stopped, like I¡¯d sprayed a bug-killer on him. On the spot something inside him curled up and died.

    God, he just sat there for so long, and so did I.

    In moments like those it¡¯s hard to say exactly how long a silence lasts. From outside, I¡¯m sure it was only a minute or two, but in that span¡ªwhen you¡¯re sitting there, waiting, waiting¡ªit becomes a significant part of your life.

    I will never forget how long I sat there waiting for him to say something. Anything at all.

    And finally¡ªafter my whole life had gone by in reverse, replayed because I had the time¡ªhe spoke, slowly and carefully-chosen. ¡°Well, I¡ªI guess that makes sense.¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond. I¡¯d forgotten how to speak.

    It¡¯d been a couple of hours since the revelation and I was still numb. I didn¡¯t understand. If it made sense to him¡ªwell, I needed him to explain it to me.

    But even if he did, in that second, I don¡¯t think it would have mattered. For a few hours on the fifteenth I was about as sapient as a rock. Every thought rattled around in my head, perfectly confined. Every thought projected at me was reflected back, rolled off me like rain. I was a mirror¡ªnothing through, all of it back again.

    If I was a rock, then, it follows that if something was inside, it was crystalline. A geode, I guess¡ªthere was something inside, I knew that, but what exactly it was couldn¡¯t be determined without taking a pickaxe to the whole thing and shattering it.

    Possible, sure, but not what I wanted.

    ¡°If he means what he says,¡± Matthew went on, after another eternity, ¡°And he truly loves you¡­¡±

    He shook his head. Some energy returned to his voice¡ªsome, but not a lot. ¡°No, no. It can¡¯t be. It¡¯s got to be a last-ditch effort to get you to help him. He said it doesn¡¯t matter if you help him or not and that he¡¯ll adopt you anyway but there¡¯s no way that¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°What if it is?¡± I asked, barely above a whisper.

    ¡°It can¡¯t be,¡± he repeated.

    Breathless¡ª ¡°Why not?¡±

    Matthew¡¯s face didn¡¯t go hard because it didn¡¯t need to. The words came right off the top of his head with no added force. ¡°Because you¡¯re unlovable,¡± he said, flatly. ¡°You¡¯re a violent psychopath with no regard for human life. I know that, you know that, he knows that, everyone knows that. Your own father hated you, nobody on Unit 6 seemed to treat you with anything better than basic decency, Prochazka clearly only viewed you as means to an end, and by now I think it¡¯s pretty clear that despite Cygnus and Bell being alive, and Bell alone probably being enough to break in here and get you out if she really wanted to¡ªby now I think it¡¯s pretty clear that nobody is coming to save you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s lying,¡± I said, evenly. ¡°I¡ªI think he really wants to make a change.¡±

    ¡°Erika, you are literally the easiest person to lie to in the whole fucking world. All anyone needs to do is convince you they give half a shit about your well-being and you¡¯ll bend over backwards to do their bidding. How do you not see the pattern here? Prochazka gave you a room to live in that wasn¡¯t in Red Creek and you went murder-crazy for him. Bell spoke to you once a month and you worship the ground she walks on. Cygnus showed you basic workplace civility and you fell in love. Neville takes you out to dinner once or twice and brings you to a museum and says some things and you seriously think he¡¯s going to make you his daughter? Really? The man doesn¡¯t even have time to shit and you think he¡¯s going to have time for parental bonding?¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut the fuck up,¡± he snapped. ¡°If he really wanted to adopt you, he would have told you that before he told you what he needs you for. All this means now is that he¡¯s doubling down because he can tell you¡¯re still undecided.¡±

    He closed his eyes, took a breath. ¡°Okay,¡± he mumbled, after a second. Reaching into his pocket for his phone. ¡°Time out. Time out. I¡¯m telling Talia to get over here and we¡¯re going to discuss this like adults.¡±

    And I just sat there, I guess.

    I don¡¯t know.

    000

    And I truly don¡¯t know. I did not think a single thing between when Matthew texted Talia and when she actually arrived. I didn¡¯t move. I¡¯m not even sure I blinked.

    Honestly, if I didn¡¯t explicitly have memories of this, I think one could make a case that I didn¡¯t even breathe¡ªthat I wasn¡¯t even alive.

    Matthew certainly seemed unsure of it. He didn¡¯t stare, but I could still feel his eyeballs roll in my direction ever couple of minutes, maybe just to see if he could catch me blinking. Showing any signs of life at all.

    But I was a stone, so I didn¡¯t.

    Obviously, what Neville did or did not think wasn¡¯t my fault. He lived in his world and I lived in mine. And I while I can¡¯t really dispute anything Matthew said to me¡ªnot beyond whining, anyway¡ªI can say that what he said had no bearing on the way I felt.

    I had to believe Neville. I had to.

    In hindsight, I know why¡ªbut in the moment, I didn¡¯t, and that¡¯s why I was so frozen.

    Was this not how I drew it up when I was lost?

    Say the word, take the hand, and all of this¡ªeverything, everywhere¡ªends.

    Or, of course, don¡¯t. At the end of the day, you are a stone, you are Erika Hanover, and what exactly it is you will do is beyond the machinations of any god or guardian, least of all you.

    You, surely, know the least about the way the wind blows between your ears.

    The strangest part of all of this, I think, stems back to when Neville and I talked in the coffee shop about how we will be remembered once the game is over. Knowing what I know now, and the part I played, and that historians will struggle to piece this story together after I¡¯m gone, makes every choice I made in the moment seem like one in a movie I watched instead of a life I lived.

    I knew, even then, that someone, somewhere, would be pouring over the pieces in a distant future and trying to wring meaning and purpose out of the traces of my life.

    Even sitting there, silent and still, I could imagine myself via a camera in the corner of the room, sitting very calmly and quietly, arms crossed tight¡ªhugging myself, maybe a little¡ªand staring blankly at my feet or the edge of the coffee table. Something vaguely in front of me and vaguely downward¡ªunfocused, unseeing.

    And Matthew, adjacent to me in the scene, looking over every once in a while, seething, knowing exactly what I know, which is the sequence of events and nothing else. It makes as much sense to him as it does to me.

    I had to believe Neville. I had to. He had to not believe him. We did not live in the same reality¡ªand I think one could argue that we never did, that I have never lived in the same reality as anyone else, that I have never lived in any reality at all.

    That I never lived, that I have no reality, that I do not exist, that the wind passes cleanly though my ears without any impedance.

    I had to believe him. Don¡¯t you see? I¡ªI had to. I had to believe him.

    I had to.

    000

    Talia arrived some twenty minutes later. She let herself in¡ªI guess, in my haze, I¡¯d forgotten to lock the door behind me. Matthew didn¡¯t seem to care.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    She regarded the two of us sitting there with a simple, ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    Matthew didn¡¯t even bother looking up at her. ¡°Neville wants to adopt her. That¡¯s the end-game.¡±

    And Talia just shrugged. ¡°Oh. Okay.¡±

    Matthew blinked. ¡°Okay? That¡¯s it?¡±

    She grimaced, examined her fingernails for a second. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be real with you, Matty Ice. I¡¯m over it. I¡¯m all Zen with this now. So it goes, it is what it is, It really do be like that sometimes, whatever you wanna say. Neville wants to adopt her? Sure, why not. I¡¯d believe it. It makes sense. Look, I phoned my folks in Atlanta yesterday and told them I might be turning up unannounced sometime in the next few days. It¡¯s over. This shit¡¯s over. I was at peace with that last night and knowing exactly what the nature of Neville¡¯s insanity is doesn¡¯t really move the needle on that much. It was fucked before and it¡¯s still fucked now. Man can do whatever the hell he wants, but it¡¯s not worth my skin. Soon as I can, I¡¯m bailing. I¡¯ve got connections and a good resume. I did good work up here and Neville having a midlife crisis is not my fault. I¡¯m sure I can snag a position with the Atlanta group that does the same shit. Less money, sure, but at least I don¡¯t have to live in fuckin¡¯ New York anymore. I hate this stupid city.¡±

    I thought she was done, but she went on. ¡°I want to hang out with my dad and go to all of our stupid dogshit football team¡¯s games again. Unlike y¡¯all, I have a pretty normal family. I¡¯m the weird one for choosing to get involved with this shit when I didn¡¯t need to. Right about now, normal family stuff sounds pretty good to me. If Neville thinks he can make it square with God by adopting Lil¡¯ Satana here, well¡ªyou know what?¡±

    She put her hands up in mock surrender. ¡°That¡¯s not my goddamn problem, that¡¯s what. Matt, if I were you, I¡¯d have been on the first train to Pittsfield, like, three days ago. You¡¯ve had more than enough evidence to prove that Neville¡¯s lost his marbles for at least a week. I have no idea why you¡¯re still here. I¡¯m certain they¡¯ll give you a pass if you explain what¡¯s going on. And unlike me, who¡¯s head Neville will get if he decides he wants it if I abandon ship no matter what I do, you¡¯ll be okay, because no matter what he¡¯s not gonna make an enemy out of the Biiris.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Matthew mumbled.

    ¡°And you¡ª¡± she turned to me, and I winced before she even spoke. ¡°Look, Erika, I hate you and all, but if you don¡¯t grow a backbone real quick this shit¡¯s just gonna keep happening to you over and over again. And, like, you probably deserve it, but I¡¯m just saying. Does Neville love you? I don¡¯t know. And honestly, who cares? Did Prochazka love you? Did Cygnus? Did your dad? Would anything be different if they did?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. And you know what? That¡¯s also none of my business. Shit¡¯s too fucked for me to do anything about it now. So, Matthew, here¡¯s the deal. I was packing my stuff up and getting my affairs in order when you texted me, and I¡¯m gonna get back to that, because on September 18th at twelve-oh-one AM, I¡¯m on a cab to LaGuardia. If Neville¡¯s gonna track me down to Atlanta and take my head, whatever. I was gonna end up dead if I stayed here anyway. All I can say to you, Matt, is this: I can think of a couple of ways the 18th can go, but most of them end up with your head on a pike, so if I were you, I¡¯d be packing my shit up, too.

    ¡°Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯m gonna get back to fucking off. I¡¯m out.¡±

    She held up two fingers, said ¡°Peace,¡± and left.

    000

    And again we sat in silence for a second before Matthew offered a statement. ¡°That wasn¡¯t what I was expecting her to say.¡±

    I made no acknowledgement of that, even though I agreed with it.

    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s right,¡± Matthew went on. Sinking deeper into his chair, as if that was even possible. ¡°It¡¯s over. Right?¡±

    ¡°Why are you asking me?¡± I said.

    He grimaced, shook his head sadly. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    After a moment, I found something to say. ¡°Don¡¯t you want this to be over, too?¡±

    In the dead air between us I felt like if I moved the droplets to detect his expression, I¡¯d change it. I knew people could feel when I did that if I wasn¡¯t very careful, but now more than ever it felt as though I could affect things just by looking. In the state he was in, I couldn¡¯t discount the possibility that¡ªbecause it was all over, right?¡ªthat he would just go ahead, get the jump on me, and walk away.

    He seemed too duty-bound to go for it, but I¡¯d thought the same of Talia, and that, obviously, was wrong.

    ¡°I¡¯m wrong, Erika,¡± he said, after a moment.

    I stopped.

    ¡°He really does think this is his way out,¡± Matthew said. Emotionless. Drained. There was nothing left in his face or heart and I didn''t need to ring it with droplets to know. ¡°He left you alone in front of the door. Unattended. I didn¡¯t even know you were back yet. You could have fucked off right then, found Cygnus and Bell, and killed us all. If¡ªif he was really just using you, he wouldn¡¯t have done that. Right?¡±

    I couldn¡¯t help but feel like that was rhetorical. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Matthew. Why would I know anything?¡±

    He didn¡¯t respond, and I remember wondering if¡ªjust this once¡ªhe was truly, genuinely disturbed by what was going on. I don¡¯t know why this was the time that occurred to me. Maybe it was because the whole situation just seemed to annoy or frustrate him before but now¡ªwith all parties¡¯ intentions laid bare except his and mine¡ªhe had to truly stop and think, and wonder, if the worst would come to pass.

    ¡°Are you going to help him?¡± he asked me, quiet.

    I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Do you have a guess?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I replied, matching his tone. Just as distant as he was. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    They welled up and I forced them down¡ªwith my magic, as much as it burned to do so. My voice held as steady as I could make it, which wasn¡¯t very much. ¡°I want to be loved, Matthew. I¡ªI want to go home. I don¡¯t want to do this anymore. I just¡­¡±

    Sniffled. ¡°I want this to be over.¡±

    And he regarded me expressionless for a minute, watching me struggle against the basic processes we all share, trying not to cry in front of someone I knew would think less of me for it (how, why, did that even begin to matter? With everything he said to me? With everything he did?).

    Lips pursed. Jaw tight. ¡°I have to believe him.¡±

    And Matthew looked at me and he believed me. I know he did. I didn¡¯t need to be a telepath to know.

    He believed me, and he believed Neville, and he believed Talia, and he believed the world was ending, and he knew¡ªright then¡ªthat whatever happened on September 18th would happen without his permission, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

    The world turned away from him and he believed it.

    He looked at me silently, truly contemptless for the first time in his life, and he saw what I saw.

    000

    Is it insane to think I didn¡¯t do anything wrong?

    Of course, what happens after is exempt from all of this. I have no opinions on it. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m allowed to, even though I was there, and it was my tendons and neurons that moved this husk to its logical conclusion.

    I cannot change it¡ªjust recall, only recall. I hold these memories still and I expect to never truly get relief from them.

    Above all else, I think, this is my punishment. But for what, exactly, I can¡¯t really say. What was I supposed to do? Slowly melt in Red Creek? Let myself die in service of the Radiant? Resign myself to the winds in captivity in New York?

    Was I supposed to just finish the job that October day?

    It always seemed unfair to me that everyone needed me for something¡ªexcept me. What did I need from me? I needed to be loved¡ªthat was outside. I needed a home¡ªthat was outside, too. I needed someone to confide in¡ªoutside, outside. None of it was me. All of it relied on someone else looking at this thing walking around and saying, ¡°Yes, this is good, this is right.¡±

    What about me?

    I saved myself from Red Creek. That much I know. What, exactly, would have become of me if Prochazka hadn¡¯t found me is beyond the scope of any of my musings. It didn¡¯t happen so it doesn¡¯t matter, hypocritical as that might be. I would have gone completely feral, probably, and in all likelihood I would have been the catalyst for the end of the world.

    I would have wandered the dark streets in some backwater town, homeless, and someone would look at me the wrong way and I would have just blown their head off in comically outsized fashion, just because I could, for the hell of it, and walked right on.

    And then, later, I would have been put down like the rabid dog I was.

    I don¡¯t know. I tried, I think. I did my best¡ªI think, I think.

    It¡¯s hard for me to draw any kind of truly ringing conclusion from any of this. This whole chapter of my life just sits in my memory like an old scar. I look at it but it¡¯s not the shape it used to be.

    I¡¯m really no better well equipped now to make sense of this than I was back then. I did what I had to do to survive, I think. I did what I needed to do to live.

    It didn¡¯t take a specialist to look around and see the ants keeling over from hunger and exhaustion and know that soon there would be no point to any of this. A few more laps around the track wouldn¡¯t change the outcome.

    I know I should hold myself more accountable¡ªbut knowing who I was, what¡¯s the point? I knew as soon as it was dropped on me that the 18th was going to be a coinflip. I knew I wasn¡¯t equipped to make that call and that Neville was wrong for putting it on my shoulders.

    How was I supposed to know how to salvage the world?

    I used to go back and forth on this every day¡ªon some days I felt like I did everything wrong and on others I felt like I did nothing wrong. Now, with the wisdom of hindsight, I err on the side of the latter.

    At the end of the day, all I know is that I was a very small, very broken child with far too much responsibility and far too little faculty to comprehend it.

    It was a tornado, a hurricane, a monsoon-storm come to flood: a natural act of the world along the order of things, and I did what I was told to do.

    A soldier, through and through.

    000

    I spent the next two days dreaming. I could be normal. Life could be easy.

    I could have a tutor¡ªno school, not for me, not with other kids around. I wanted to learn but the rest I could take or leave. I had never once been taught how to express myself but that could change¡ªart, like Neville showed me, could be the way. I didn¡¯t need to be a prodigal student to show how I felt but wouldn¡¯t it be beautiful to be one anyway?

    Could I not grow old? Could I not live a new life? I was young¡ªwithered by the things I¡¯d seen but not dead, still not dead¡ªone or two of these leaves were still green. With some water and some care I could still be saved.

    In a few years, when I was all caught up on all the things I¡¯d missed, the gap between Cygnus and I wouldn¡¯t matter as much, and maybe I could take another crack at that. With magic known and celebrated we wouldn¡¯t have to hide.

    Wouldn¡¯t it be beautiful to think so?

    And across the world people like Ava could bloom flowers along the boulevards and people like Sophia could cure every illness and people like Loybol and Cygnus could build the most beautiful structures and life could be easy¡ªit could, it should!

    What was the point in all this? Why was Loybol so scared? Why not look Death in the eye¡ªhe looks at us, why can¡¯t we look back?

    Don¡¯t we have to?

    Don¡¯t we?

 106 - Rejt Szé“†ved Alè°© [September 17th - 18th, 15]

    Neville didn¡¯t see me again in those two days between his revelation and the final hour. Apparently, he¡¯d been shuffling his schedule around to make time for me in a way that was starting to make the other parties in his meetings suspicious (or, at the very least, annoyed), and so he had to take the time to run through everything outstanding all at once.

    Speech was hard enough for me in those days, though, so it was okay with me. Matthew and I, I think, didn¡¯t talk at all in forty-eight hours. After he looked at me with the fresh knowledge in mind on the fifteenth, he¡¯d evidently decided he now knew all there was to know about Erika Hanover and as such there was no longer any point in humoring her with conversation or attention.

    Again¡ªthat was fine. I wasn¡¯t about to talk to him, anyway. As little as I truly understood about Matthew, I was content to leave it that way. There was nothing there that interested me beyond passing curiosity about the Biiri family¡ªand if that was truly important, someone would tell me eventually. The man himself, I¡¯d decided, I could take or leave.

    And thus ended our relationship. We still lived together for a little bit, but as far as both of us were concerned, we¡¯d solved the other, and we viewed each other as having very little replay value.

    Despite this, though, on the night of the seventeenth, he opened his mouth and found a few scraggly words for me.

    We sat with the TV (watching without listening and listening without watching, respectively), the lights turned low, in our respective open caves. Matthew had left the apartment once or twice for phone calls, but otherwise was as much of a stone as me¡ªsitting alone, contemplating. Or not, honestly¡ªit wouldn¡¯t have surprised me at all to know that for at least a little bit, he sat as totally thoughtless as me, staring blankly forward as if he was as blind as me, nothing in his head but flesh.

    He was watching some nightly news program, declaring the evils of the world. Floods, wildfires, crimes upon crimes.

    It¡¯d been so long since I sat and listened to the news that I wondered if I was ever actually reported missing. It was reasonably unlikely that I would¡¯ve known, especially given the window it would¡¯ve happened in, but the fact that nobody had ever stopped me in the street for it in the three years I¡¯d been away suggested to me that I hadn¡¯t been. I wasn¡¯t about to chalk it up to Hal celebrating my absence instead of mourning it¡ªhe could be dead instead¡ªbut the fact that not even the school had put something together made me pause.

    Unless, of course, that stretch of time where I stayed inside in my first few days at the Radiant was long enough to open and shut the whole case.

    And while not even this whole section of my life was enough to make me wish it all away I still found myself wondering what he was doing nowadays. If he still hurt like he used to, like he should, or if he was off to other things.

    Somehow I found it hard to imagine Hal anywhere else, with anyone else, doing anything else. He would go to the ironworks and then go home and stare at a wall. That closed loop was his whole life; a little booze here, a little weed there, just enough to grease the wheels.

    I was still too stun-locked in the moment to see the similarities between my image of him and the reality I lived, but I see it now.

    Now, I know how it fits, and so on.

    I was looking at nothing and waiting for nothing, so when Matthew found his words, they were all I had.

    ¡°If this is the last time I ever get to talk to you,¡± he opened, without even saying my name. ¡°I want you to know¡ª¡°

    That I¡¯m sorry? That I regret everything?

    ¡°¡­that whatever Prochazka did to you can never be undone.¡±

    We left that alone in the air for a while. I didn¡¯t need to ask for an explanation. I knew he would provide.

    ¡°What Prochazka did to you,¡± he continued, slow, ¡°is exactly what the Biiri family did to me. I was born for this just like you were. And¡ªI try every day not to blame myself for the way that I am, because I know, realistically, that there was nothing I could have done when I was your age to stop it. None of us back there could. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m holding this against you when the same could be held against me.¡±

    I blinked. He watched me blink. And despite no indication that I was even listening he went on. This was more for his benefit than mine. I¡¯d seen this movie before.

    It always went something like this:

    ¡°I¡¯ve killed too, you know. When we were kids they made us draw straws ¡ªthe straws were representative: the person who drew the shortest had the youngest target. I got the shortest. She was ten years old, just like I was.¡±

    He paused. Sank a little deeper into his chair. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for your sympathy. I just want you to know that¡­that I¡¯ve done this, too. I¡¯ve lived your life already. And just like you there wasn¡¯t anything I could do about it. I had nowhere else to go. Nothing that could possibly save me, and¡­and from where I was I don¡¯t know if I would have even known what a savior would look like. Things just happened to me. Just like they happen to you, I guess.¡±

    Finally, he worked up the courage to glance over at me¡ªand as soon as I felt his eyes swivel toward me, I met them as close as I could. Slightly off-center, now, since I could only meet eyes so well nowadays.

    And he looked away. Flinched.

    He flinched, and all I had to do was look.

    ¡°We¡¯re the same, I guess,¡± he said. ¡°Simultaneously damaged beyond repair and too useful to throw away.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want your sympathy,¡± I said, not realizing he¡¯d said exactly the same a second ago. He took it in stride, though. Simply repeating: ¡°Believe me, there¡¯s none. Even if I was capable of mustering up something like that, I¡¯d save it for something that deserves it.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Erika, I understand you, but that doesn¡¯t mean I like it. When I was your age¡­if I was in the field already, in your position¡­I wouldn¡¯t have understood what was happening to me, either.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not like me,¡± I said, blank. Monotoned. ¡°You do not understand.¡±

    ¡°Maybe the nuts and bolts are different. But the core experience is the same.¡±

    ¡°Nobody forced me to do anything,¡± I said, feeling the edges of my fingernails with the meat of my thumb. ¡°I joined the Radiant of my own free will. I chose this.¡±

    ¡°Did you? Really?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Or did you just take what you were given?¡±

    That was about all I could take. I kept his eyes as close to mine as I could. This drivel had been thrown at me so many times. Every single time it was expected that a basic philosophical question would lock me up and maybe Matthew would get a little kick out of watching me squirm.

    No more. I had no more left to give.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care, Matthew,¡± I said, plainly. ¡°Maybe I did or maybe I didn¡¯t. Maybe I chose this or maybe it chose me. But you know what? It doesn¡¯t matter anymore. It¡¯s too late.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to kill him?¡± Matthew asked, suddenly.

    ¡°Prochazka?¡±

    ¡°Neville,¡± he said. ¡°He wants your answer by tomorrow, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°So are you going to do it?¡±

    Fingernails, hangnails, contours and all. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know anything, Matthew. You¡¯re asking me for answers that don¡¯t exist. I don¡¯t know because nobody knows.¡±

    He frowned. This was it. This was the real reason he hated me. Not because I¡¯d killed¡ªhe¡¯d done the same. Not because the world seemed to revolve around me¡ªhe lived his whole life in the orbit of others.

    ¡°How?¡± he asked, plainly. Defeated before we even fought. ¡°How can you be so sure?¡±

    ¡°Sure of what?¡±

    ¡°That you don¡¯t know,¡± he said. ¡°Every time. You say you don¡¯t know. And every time I can tell you¡¯re not lying because I¡¯m in your head and¡ªand I know. I know you¡¯re telling the truth. You have absolutely no idea what¡¯s going to happen.¡±

    I remained expressionless. Nothing to give him the satisfaction.

    I was alien. Unknowable. I had no desires, no knowledge, no plans. Before me was Matthew and he was going to squirm and I was going to watch.

    With everything as it was.

    ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡± I said, blank.

    ¡°You haven¡¯t even attempted to sway yourself in one way or another.¡±

    ¡°Why bother? The decision is going to be made for me. I¡¯m not in control, Matthew. I¡¯m just here, and later I¡¯ll be there, and nothing will change.¡±

    Matthew closed his eyes. He waited. Somewhere deep in his skull the contradiction rattled and no matter which way he twisted or turned it he couldn¡¯t make it into something logical.

    Even as he attempted to come to turns with the slow slush reality I live in, I was thoughtless.

    Maybe it was better this way. Easier, certainly.

    This could be the design.

    ¡°Are you going to kill me?¡± he asked, finally. Smaller than before. A question he already knew the answer to, in the tone of a sheepish child, spoken to a entity made purely of contempt for everything in the whole wide world.

    There was nothing I desired because there was nothing in the world that was desirable. Neville¡¯s love did not exist¡ªit could not; there was nothing to love.

    I existed in contempt of life, spreading my seething miasma across everything I touched. Children stolen from parents. Lives torn apart. Riches snatched and last-things taken. The tempest came and left carnage in its wake, content to be led around on a leash because the tempest wanted for nothing, because its contempt for everything was exactly the same.

    All things in spite of each other¡ªall things in spite of you.

    The hateful entity needed no expressions to show its nature. It was, surely, abundantly clear to anyone paying any attention.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    I hated Matthew in the same way that I hated insects, or cold baths, or nosy people, or hot dry summer days. Squash or math or luck-based game shows.

    All things, everywhere, for all time. My thoughts and his thoughts and my body and his body and everything both in between and not.

    There was a flood and this is all that was left. It was the only way any of this made any sense.

    In my soul, there was hate, and the hate was alone.

    ¡°That depends,¡± I said, not moving, not changing. Exactly as it ever was. ¡°Are you going to stop talking?¡±

    000

    I don¡¯t want to trick anyone into thinking I was strong-arming him. I honestly did not know what I was going to do when Neville saw me again. He would take me down into his office and ask the question and my mouth would open and something would occur.

    On some level, maybe my decision was fated. I certainly didn¡¯t feel like I had any choice in the matter. By then I knew myself well enough to know that the little withered hateful heart I carried was going to take an action at random when presented with the ultimate choice.

    I was not in control. Time would come and go, the event would march ever closer.

    I could watch, and I could hate, but that was all.

    000

    In the center of my world of hate, for fourteen hours, I found peace.

    My purpose was to hate. That was why things were the way they were. This was the grand design. Erika Hanover was a vehicle for hate.

    Why else would I have been given all this power? What was it for?

    For fourteen hours, I knew my place in the world. Matthew did not exist. My droplet rendition of him in my head dissipated. I didn¡¯t care. I didn¡¯t need him.

    Both of tomorrow¡¯s outcomes were hated. I hated the pity and I hated being alone. I hated what Prochazka did to me and I hated what I let Prochazka do to me.

    I hated what it would mean if I killed him and I hated what it would mean if I didn¡¯t.

    What, then, was the point in worrying? What was the point in poking at the details? If it was hate all the way down, then every outcome was the same.

    Spin the wheel, get a prize.

    For fourteen hours, I understood. The act of yearning ruined the illusion. Planning poached the future. Time would pass and I would be well again.

    And everything would be as it was, and still I would hate.

    000

    He came to me that morning as he always did: at the door by nine, suit and tie, waiting.

    Matthew did not speak to me again. He had the opportunity to, but our last conversation covered all the bases. He knew everything there was to know about Erika Hanover, and therefore no further interaction was required.

    Truth be told: I didn¡¯t have plans to kill him. At the time the idea never seriously occurred to me. As worthless as it is to everyone else, I have always had a soft spot for people following orders. I could take or leave Matthew himself, but I understood his frustration, and I knew it wasn¡¯t like he kept me in the dry room longer than he needed to. Neville, or someone below him, told him to do these things, and therefore he was duty-bound to see them to completion like the good little soldier he was.

    It''s war, Erika. Forget it.

    When I saw Neville there, I remember moving droplets back towards the couches to check if Matthew was watching. Not that it mattered; he was watching internally, at least, in the same way that I didn¡¯t need to be physically present with my eyes pointed to be ¡°watching,¡± but it was the gesture I was looking for: I wanted to see him care. Surely he was going to see me off. Surely all of his posturing was for nothing.

    But he wasn¡¯t there. He¡¯d gotten up to go to the bathroom or something when I wasn¡¯t aware.

    It did not occur to me in the moment because I wasn¡¯t capable of conscious thought, but in hindsight I see that I left him the same way I left my father: quietly, under sunrise, in a time long foretold.

    I remember, briefly, wondering if I¡¯d ever meet him again¡ªbut not with words: only the contours of his face stretched over a placeholder mannequin, in some crowd of the same.

    In my heart, though, I knew I would not.

    Neville extended his hand. It was the only gesture he needed to make.

    I went to him.

    000

    How does one describe the mechanism of impulse?

    I wouldn¡¯t know the result until the question left his lips, and even then I would only know when the response left mine. A bolt down my spine, surging through the feather-tips of my nerves. One action. One word.

    I had no doubts. To do so would require thoughts, which I did not have. The hate cleared all else. For the first time in my life, my mind was clear. How, exactly, Neville planned to use this empty ball of hate to spin magic into something palatable for normal folk was beyond me. I didn¡¯t need to know. It didn¡¯t matter.

    I understood. I didn¡¯t want to know. I wanted to be pointed at the problem. I could wave at a crowd, I could sit quietly and smile, I could bring armies to ruin, I could look pretty for the cameras, I could be the good soldier forever.

    It was easy. The hate would sustain me.

    Say the word, take the hand¡ªand the world was mine.

    000

    His hand closed around mine and the droplets drenched his face¡ªevery curvature monitored with a desperation I couldn¡¯t admit to. Was this genuine? Was this real?

    The conclusions I drew while sitting alone and the things I did in the moment did not match. I knew this would happen. I did not prepare for it because I knew there was nothing I could do.

    I knew I could only watch.

    He led me down the hall and to the elevator. Pressed the button and took me down. I stood with him in silence. He did not look at me. I did not look at him.

    Together we walked out to street. I expected the whirlwind of noise and movements to crash through me like a hurricane like it normally did¡ªbut it did not. The noise was there but barely¡ªit was a singular entity of static. I didn¡¯t try to pick out sources. It didn¡¯t matter.

    It was only then that I realized I wasn¡¯t holding any droplets. Neville¡¯s hand was my only guide.

    I was blind again.

    Together we went to the other building, and then we went to the elevator and took it down.

    000

    It was then that I experienced my one cogent thought that whole morning. Even with everything, it still feels a little weird to describe it that way. I can¡¯t think of anything better, though. My eyes had been glazed since I woke up. There was no life back there that day.

    But when we left the elevator and came into the lobby before his office, I had it. I remembered the painting.

    It was the center one on the left wall¡ªwithout my permission my attention swiveled towards it. The painting of the hollow-headed woman and the pitcher of blood. I had no way of knowing if the image I held was anything related to what was on the canvas there but I always assumed that it was¡ªas though Matthew had sent the image straight to my brain like an e-mail. I think I just assumed that was true.

    And even though I couldn¡¯t have cared less about the painting in the moment it was brought to me, that image rang clear in my head¡ªone of the few things I could still render with my imagination in vaguely realistic shapes.

    But what I didn¡¯t know¡ªand what I wished in that moment I could ask¡ªwas what expression the woman had.

    It was a painting; it could¡¯ve been anything. But Matthew was out there alone in the hotel room, somehow still alive after our last meeting, lost to me, and I was with Neville at the end of my history. I would never get to ask.

    And as such, every time I recall this, the woman¡¯s expression changes. And I wish I could say it always matches my mood, or it¡¯s always showing the opposite of whatever I feel, but it¡¯s not that simple. It chooses its emotions at random. I don¡¯t understand it.

    I guess that¡¯s the most fitting outcome, anyway.

    ¡°Oh, that painting?¡± Neville said. I was facing that spot on the wall, eyes pointed somewhere in the vicinity of it. I¡¯d forgotten to move. I was broken.

    I wonder, now, if Neville noticed. It would¡¯ve been possible, certainly, and I¡¯d even argue in favor of it. He knew what he was doing. Even if he had his doubts about his mission in that moment, seeing that I was empty and that I would choose the remainder of my days at random, he knew he had to stay the course. He¡¯d thrown away sure things for this. The war was his to win, multiple times, but he threw it away. For this.

    Greedy! Prochazka would never have gotten so greedy as to want his wins this large. Take your war, take your days. Every time, the exchange rate gets worse. Cash it while you can.

    But still¡ªcould Neville blame himself for seeing the writing on the wall?

    Prochazka would never.

    And so, even if he knew how dire the stakes were, he stayed the course. This was all he had.

    ¡°I bought that painting at an auction in Hinterland, actually,¡± Neville said, so blas¨¦. ¡°It¡¯s Matthew¡¯s favorite.¡±

    I did not speak. I was broken.

    ¡°Matthew doesn¡¯t know anything about it because I¡¯ve never told him. Loybol brought me, some ten years ago, to a secret art auction in a deep part of the Red Quarter where the urchins didn¡¯t dare to go. It was a very upscale affair. Powerful people came out to that; old money, old power magical families. Like Matthew¡¯s folks. An international crowd, maybe¡­I don¡¯t know, fifty people, gathered in what was essentially a poverty-quarantine city district basement. For an art auction.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I find that funny. Anyway, I haven¡¯t told Matthew this because I don¡¯t want him to know, but this painting was sold posthumously. This was my first in-person meeting with Loybol. I don¡¯t think I mentioned this before, but there was a previous regime here that I took over. My operation was more efficient than theirs, and the person in charge of it was old and wanted to retire. It was a peaceful thing¡ªbut for some time I learned under him, and we¡¯d met with Loybol once or twice during that time. I never had much of an opinion about what Loybol thought of me, but I found out that night at the art auction. When that painting went on the block, she turned to me and told me that she killed the artist who made that for overstepping boundaries despite warnings. And she knew that she could attend the auction¡ªwhich had limited seats by reservation only, of course¡ªand nothing would happen to her. She, at some point, called the organizer, who surely knew that she had killed the artist of that painting, and asked for a plus-one.

    ¡°The comment she made to me upon its sale was simply, and I quote, ¡°I killed Quentin Weller. I just want to know which one of these people buys his last work.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°She obviously did this to prove a point about ruling and power, and to date I¡¯ve never seen her do anything like that since. I assumed at the time that she thought it would intimidate me. Now, I assume that she did it because she thought this would be the kind of thing I respected, which I¡¯m sure sounds familiar to you.¡±

    I¡¯d almost forgotten he was talking to me. For a half-second I came up for air and then I was gone again.

    ¡°And, well, macho as I clearly am, I wasn¡¯t about to let myself just be intimidated. This was my first day as the head honcho, you know? I had a reputation to protect. So I bought it, and I hung it right there, and every time Loybol came to town to meet with me she had to see it, and every time she turned bright cherry red.¡±

    I blinked.

    ¡°It¡¯s the only way I¡¯ve ever been able to get that kind of reaction out of her. Everything is always business. I¡¯m pretty sure she¡¯s had fun surgically removed from her brain. Clearly she¡¯s realized at some point that she was completely wrong about the kinds of things I pay attention to, and to date, it is the only thing I can actually tease her about that gets anywhere.¡±

    He paused, breathed. Shrugged even though I didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t Matthew like that story? Because, deep down, he still thinks I¡¯m the sort of person who would have sought a ticket to that art show just to bid on this. Because it¡¯s Mr. Weller¡¯s blood in the pitcher and the hand that made it is dead. And sure, maybe it seems petty to sit here and huff about, oh, I bought this ironically, I bought this for a laugh¡ªand yet there it is on my wall. All five of these other paintings are just landscapes I like. Did Matthew ever tell you that?¡±

    I did not respond.

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Neville said, with a little smile. He shook his head as though Matthew was some small misguided child. ¡°The secret here is that I don¡¯t have a conclusion to this for you. I don¡¯t know why, given everything I just told you, I keep that painting there. It¡¯s not like it¡¯s the only one made by someone magical¡ªthey all are. Just artists that happen to have keys. But that one sticks out, and I still keep it on the wall because, I guess, deep down, I just like it. I just think it¡¯s a cool painting. The story is as it is. I find it ironic that Matthew likes it so much, not knowing its history, and I find it ironic that I do like it so much, having been there every step of the way.¡±

    He paused like he was done, and then found another thought. ¡°I don¡¯t have much to say about the painting itself. I¡¯m not an art critic. The composition is clean and competent, I guess. The title of the work as it was sold to me was ¡®Portrait of a Drowning¡¯, but I don¡¯t buy it. In the sense that¡ªwell, to me, it doesn¡¯t look like the woman was ever alive. I think it¡¯s an intentional painting of a mannequin. And, well, mannequins can¡¯t drown.¡±

    He stepped over to the door to his office, turned the handle, and held it open. I know because I heard it. I made no move to summon any droplets.

    I wasn¡¯t really sure if I remembered how.

    I went inside and sat in the chair across from his desk. I bumped into it and let that happen. It didn¡¯t matter. I simply patted around and sat.

    We took our places. He shifted in his chair. I know because I heard it.

    ¡°It¡¯s these things that I see,¡± Neville said. ¡°The idle playthings of greater powers. Even the landscapes out there¡ªI can¡¯t help but see them as more, somehow, than I would otherwise. As though the mortal artist weren¡¯t powerful enough¡ªlike these landscapes were made by some higher machine. Any one of those people could have, at any time, chosen to destroy the world. And the odds are fairly good that they would succeed. Most of our work, as you know, is preventative. Strike before because you can¡¯t strike after. But this¡ªthose¡ªthose are good. We just have to hope that most of us are like the landscapes. By my sample size, it¡¯s five to one. Those odds aren¡¯t great, but¡­I¡¯ll take them.

    ¡°Which, of course, brings me to my request.¡±

    He tapped his fingers on the desk. We existed in total silence.

    And for the life of me, I have no idea why he said this the way that he did. Maybe he thought he was being funny. It¡¯s certainly the kind of thing I¡¯d say, at least. With the wisdom of hindsight, I can say that it feels to me like his one action taken in panic. When I considered the possibility that he read his odds in my eyes when he saw me look toward that painting, this is the moment I cite as my best evidence.

    It¡¯s the one thing I can¡¯t really square.

    I just cannot imagine why any sane person would ever phrase this question in this way when speaking to me¡ªbut I have to recall that, at the end of the day, I did not know if Neville was sane or not. All along the way, I saw exactly what I needed to see. It wavered like the winds. He was deceitful, he was repentant, he was longing, he was desperate. It didn¡¯t matter if he was sane. He was whatever I needed to heal the hole in my heart.

    And even if I look at this as a simple nervous outburst, I have to see it for the absurdity it is, knowing I could do no better in his place.

    In his place I would have drowned so long ago.

    Neville said, ¡°How do you plead?¡±

    000

    It left me before I could stop it¡ªand even if I had had all the advanced notice in the world, I don¡¯t know if I would have.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

 107 - Love Me Forever [September 18th, 15]

    The other evidence for my theory is how surprised he looked for half a second when he realized he was still alive. The way his eyebrows popped up (when did I put the droplets out again?), the way his eyes flicked back and forth, like he was looking for the hidden cameras.

    ¡°Oh¡ª¡± he started, blinking. ¡°Well, okay. That¡¯s great.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± I said, again. More for my benefit than his, I think.

    He cleared his throat. Shook his head, slightly. ¡°Thank you, Erika. This¡ªthis means¡­¡±

    Neville trailed off. His fingers tapped on the desk as he searched for the right words. ¡°This means a lot to me. And¡ªand it means a lot to the world. I think we can pull this off if we play our cards right.¡±

    I started to speak, realized I was just going to say ¡°I¡¯ll do it¡± again and cut myself off after the first syllable. Pursing my lips and looking down.

    Slowly, it coalesced. It occurred to me that the moment was past. Now I was on the other side of the one thing my life was leading to and now I had no idea what to do.

    I really, truly, did not think I would get this far.

    Neville spoke softly. I wasn¡¯t sure he believed it, either. ¡°Let¡¯s tell Matthew.¡±

    ¡°Together?¡±

    ¡°I see no reason not to,¡± he replied. ¡°We¡¯ll be doing a lot of things together and I¡¯d like his assistance in the logistics now that Talia¡¯s gone.¡±

    I breathed, slowly. It was over. Now was the future. We had things to attend to. This was my moment to breathe¡ªafter this I would get precious few, I knew.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be too public,¡± I managed. ¡°In¡ªin a spotlight. I don¡¯t want that.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t be,¡± Neville replied. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine a situation in which you¡¯d have to speak publicly without me. You¡¯re my daughter. There¡¯s no need.¡±

    Those three words rang through my hollow skull.

    Had it been that long since I¡¯d heard that? In a neutral tone like it didn¡¯t matter¡ªhow long? When was the last time Hal said it? When was the last time he said it and meant it? I couldn¡¯t recall because I had no reason to try and remember¡ªI¡¯d long since abandoned any notion of him as my rightful father, flesh as it was, and by then (and now, still, all this time later) all of his words that I could remember meant about as much as dust.

    But that¡ªright then¡ª

    It looped forever in my head. It still loops. I haven¡¯t forgotten.

    I don¡¯t think I ever will.

    Tears welled in my eyes. He was warm¡ªthe droplets I clutched around him gave that to me¡ªso tightly wrapped around his face like a mask¡ªand while I am sure he felt it and knew it was there he didn¡¯t say anything about it. He just let them be there¡ªlet me scan him for everything I could find, scrabbling across his face for every last trace of emotion.

    I didn¡¯t know what I was looking for. The thing, whatever it was, isn¡¯t something written on an expression. I wanted a thought. I wanted to put the droplets in his head and feel his mind.

    That, though, will elude me forever. The price of a key, I suppose.

    I wanted to know that he meant it. And as he rose silently from his chair and came around the desk, the droplet-mask he wore with no complaints¡ªno, with pride!¡ªdrifted towards me, crouched low to be level with mine.

    Near me then he whispered, ¡°May I?¡±

    Ribs clenched tight around my heart, breath in short gasps¡ªI forced everything to be level and still because I could not possibly¡ª

    I nodded with a short twitch and his arms gently looped around me. Pulled me into him, away from the chair.

    ¡°Erika¡ª¡± he said, softly. ¡°There¡¯s a better world for us around the corner. We¡¯re almost there. Hang on a little longer, okay?¡±

    He embraced me tighter, and I wrapped my arms around him just the same, and I let it go.

    000

    When the moment had passed and both of us could speak clearly again, he laid out his basic intentions: there wasn¡¯t much of a rush for this. Neville said he¡¯d rather spend this time peacefully than dive headlong into tearing the world apart.

    A month or two, maybe, he said, but the actual time frame isn¡¯t important. When the time as right, he¡¯d pick a nice day, and we¡¯d go out and I¡¯d do something big and flashy with the lake in Central Park.

    Or somewhere else. He shrugged. The actual location of the event wasn¡¯t particularly important. He¡¯d circulate flyers a few days in advance to draw a crowd and then I¡¯d let loose on it.

    One day (maybe less, he said¡ªhe had too much respect for Loybol to believe that she wouldn¡¯t at least try and assassinate him on twenty four hours¡¯ notice, and with stakes that high he believed fully that she could actually get it done. Likely it would involve her handful of telepaths (Esther, maybe a few others) to track him down, and then she would just take care of business herself. Cities were a playground for sufficiently powerful earth-keys. It would probably involve collapsing an entire building, with hundreds of casualties, but again¡ªgiven the stakes it¡¯d be worth it.

    It was possible that she¡¯d give a passive approval, Neville had also mentioned, but unlikely given her participation in the war. He had to assume that any goodwill between them had burned by this time.

    Enough time to draft some statements but not enough time to do anything, he said.

    ¡°I will protect you,¡± he had said. On the subject of our inevitable international celebrity. Upon the reveal of magic at Central Park we would probably never get a full nights¡¯ sleep again. But he promised¡ªsolemn as the stars¡ªthat he would not let anything happen to me.

    Until then, though, we had life to live.

    000

    And so we went up to Matthew to inform him of the future.

    Even though it had been less than an hour since I was last at the apartment I couldn¡¯t help but regard the door in a different light, as though it was a different place. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever be back there again, let alone with Matthew, let alone with a living, breathing Neville. And with my mind finally swirling back down to something vaguely resembling normal I sent some droplets under the door before Neville knocked, just so I could feel Matthew jump out of his skin.

    And sure enough¡ªhe did. The knock came and Matthew was so startled he dropped his book.

    For a good ten seconds, he didn¡¯t move. Sat perfectly paralyzed. I half-expected him to dive into my head again¡ªor at least try, given what he had to be assuming about the knock¡ªbut he didn¡¯t. Instead, slowly, he rose from the easy chair and drifted lifelessly toward the door.

    It occurred to me about one second before he opened the door that Matthew must have run the odds about getting the jump on me right then. If I was there, alone because I killed Neville in his office and simply came upstairs to take care of unfinished business, it made sense to go at me right then. Take advantage of what he probably assumed was a tactical mistake.

    I don¡¯t really know what he was thinking, but he didn¡¯t do it. Maybe he figured that if I was close enough to knock on the door, I was close enough to put droplets around him, and therefore close enough to put an icicle through his skull if he twitched the wrong way.

    Either way, he didn¡¯t try. He opened the door, defeated without a fight.

    And even if he expected what was on the other side, he didn¡¯t show it. His eyes flicked between me and Neville like he¡¯d never seen either of us before in his life.

    ¡°Oh¡ª¡± he said. ¡°Um. Welcome back. Sir.¡±

    He took a deep breath. I thought he was going to launch into something, but he didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Hello,¡± Neville said, cheery. Cheery!

    ¡°I¡¯m going to¡ªcan I speak freely?¡±

    ¡°Always.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Matthew said, closing his eyes. Another deep breath. ¡°What the ever-loving fuck were you thinking?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t play games,¡± Neville said, serious again. ¡°And I¡¯m tired of pretenses. The life we live is unsustainable. It¡¯s time.¡±

    ¡°Now?¡±

    ¡°Not now.¡± He flapped his hand a little. ¡°Later. Next month or so. Before it gets too cold, for sure. But we could also do it when the first snowfall his. That, actually, might be best.¡±

    He looked down at me. ¡°That¡¯s not my part, though. The art is hers.¡±

    I swallowed. I guess I¡¯d missed that part.

    ¡°I cannot fucking believe that this worked. Christ. I¡ªI¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t be so upset.¡±

    ¡°You have every right to be upset,¡± Neville said. ¡°I kept this from you for far too long. I drove Talia away because I kept this from you all. I¡¯d be lying if I said this was my full plan from the beginning, but this thought¡ªwell, once it was brought to me, I realized that even if I didn¡¯t know it when I put this in motion, this must have been my final design. Does that make sense?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Matthew said. ¡°Absolutely fucking not.¡±

    ¡°I saved Erika because I realized I had to,¡± Neville said. ¡°I didn¡¯t really know why. I thought I did, but¡ªI don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t really believe in God, but I do believe in a divine purpose. There are things each person is meant to do. This is ours. Nobody has ever been better positioned for this than we are. It might be the only chance we get to end this charade in peace.¡±

    ¡°Peace,¡± Matthew said, empty. ¡°It ends with a snowman in Central Park. Is that it?¡±

    Neville shrugged. ¡°More or less.¡±

    ¡°Loybol¡¯s going to put your head on a spike.¡±

    ¡°She won¡¯t have enough time.¡±

    ¡°Do you think that¡¯ll stop her?¡± Matthew said, cold. ¡°I¡¯ve seen what she does to people who wrong her.¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°She¡¯s not being wronged. I think she¡¯ll understand. Frankly, with the opportunities she¡¯s had¡­¡± He glanced down at me. ¡°I think she¡¯ll just be upset she didn¡¯t think of this sooner.¡±

    ¡°What about Prochazka? He¡¯s still alive.¡±

    ¡°He will concede.¡±

    ¡°Bell and Cygnus?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t in the city anymore,¡± he said.

    I paled. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± Neville said. ¡°None of our people have seen or heard from them in two weeks.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re not hiding,¡± Matthew said. ¡°Sir, you can¡¯t just hand-wave all this shit away. We¡¯re not actually done yet.¡±

    ¡°It will be done once we do the demonstration,¡± he said. ¡°It can¡¯t be put back again, Matthew. Once the other parties see the peaceful demonstration, they¡¯ll back down. We all know what it takes. None of us had the strength until now.¡±

    His tone never changed. It was final. This was it, then¡ªthat was the end.

    A victory for Neville. Prochazka loses.

    A victory, somehow, for me.

    I still find it hard to feel that way about this. Even though I know it was what was best for the world, and what was best for me¡ªI still couldn¡¯t help but feel a little sideways pang like I was betraying the man who saved my life, even though I¡¯m not entirely sure he actually saved anything at all.

    Matthew turned his attention to me. ¡°And you¡¯re just¡­okay with this?¡±

    I nodded. Took a breath. Sounded as strong as I could. ¡°I¡¯ve always known the math was bad, Matthew. I¡ªI tried to tell Cygnus and he didn¡¯t believe me. I knew we couldn¡¯t get away with this forever. And¡­and this plan, it¡­it gives me a home. It means I don¡¯t have to keep doing¡­this,¡± I waved vaguely at the place around us, as if that had any actual meaning. ¡°When Prochazka saved me, he¡ªhe just pointed me at stuff. And let me be broken towards it. I didn¡¯t understand what I was doing because I didn¡¯t understand anything. And as I started to realize, it was too late. I was already stuck with it. I didn¡¯t know enough to ask for help, but¡­¡±

    I swallowed and kept my voice steady. ¡°I¡¯ve made too many mistakes to keep digging myself deeper. I know better now.¡±

    ¡°You know not to let yourself be manipulated anymore,¡± Matthew said, toneless.

    I nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Again his eyes went between Neville and me. I expected another retort¡ªsome other hole in the plan that Neville would wave away¡ªbut instead Matthew just shrugged and said, ¡°Okay. Whatever.¡±

    ¡°Can I count on you?¡± Neville asked.

    ¡°I already did this bit of self-searching,¡± Matthew said. ¡°I don¡¯t need to do it again.¡±

    There was a pause. He twitched.

    In one moment all possible worlds flashed through my head and I could only stop it from overwhelming me with a breath. I thought I knew what was coming.

    But it did not come. Nothing changed.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what I think,¡± Matthew said, slowly. ¡°I swore allegiance.¡±

    Neville smiled. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    000

    Later, when we went out for pastries, Neville floated the idea of me moving in with him at some point. It didn¡¯t need to be now, he said, but it should probably be before we set the world on fire. It would help if we could naturally act like the father/daughter duo the world was expecting to see.

    I wasn¡¯t quite ready for that yet, but I didn¡¯t have to be. We had some time, it could wait.

    That summed up the extent of the ¡°plan¡± that Neville was willing to discuss. Instead of further logistics, he asked me what I¡¯d like to do.

    The question didn¡¯t register with me. I was halfway into a donut when he said it. ¡°What?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Do you want to go somewhere? I know you mentioned you might want to finish some schooling at some point¡ªI know some people who¡¯d be willing to help.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know,¡± I said. ¡°This is all happening really fast.¡±

    ¡°We can also do nothing,¡± Neville said. ¡°We¡¯ve got that luxury now. We can just do nothing today, if you¡¯d like.¡±

    I could not remember the last time I¡¯d been allowed to simply do nothing. It must have been in Red Creek¡ªsince then there¡¯d always been something that had to be done. Something that couldn¡¯t wait another day. I had at some point assumed that this was how all people lived and that there was actually no such thing as ¡°nothing to do¡±¡ªto do nothing was to waste time, to squander something, and therefore it was illegal in Prochazka¡¯s eyes and therefore again my own.

    What was left to do if nothing could be done? I could sit on my hands and everything would just¡ªwait for me.

    It would all still be there tomorrow.

    ¡°I think I¡¯d like to do nothing,¡± I said.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Neville said. ¡°Let¡¯s just go for a walk, then.¡±

    So we did that.

    000

    We turned corners at random. Entered stores at random. Occasionally Neville needed to give me a quick note about what was actually in the store (¡°these clothes won¡¯t fit you¡ªthe smaller things are over there¡± or ¡°that¡¯s just a restaurant¡±), but he was always discreet about it. Once in a while I would slide back into my old habits of trying to keep track of everything at once, and I¡¯d stumble as the force of it engulfed me¡ªbut every time I made that little stop-stumble, Neville would stop walking, immediately, and wait for me to catch my breath.

    He waited! For me!

    Prochazka would never!

    We spent the whole day like that. Wandering. Seeing. He took me anywhere, to see anything. It didn¡¯t matter what the thing was. It didn¡¯t matter how long it took to get there.

    We went. We did. No questions or timetables. This would not be on the final exam.

    It was allowed to simply exist. I was allowed to exist.

    I was.

    And the winds blew high around the monoliths and the breaths from the passerby floated in little red swirls in front of their warm lips and the lights and sounds from the buildings came to rest at my feet as birds, as feathers, not as javelins¡ªthe buildings, they used to bend inward, peering over me as spy-cameras on inquisitive streetlamps but now they stood as straight and tall as their architects intended: oaks to line the path as Neville and I strode down the avenue with our secret presents in tow: our place, our time, and no intrusive thought of a passerby could shake our conviction in the future we¡¯d set in motion: all of this was going to end, yes, it would end bloodily, yes, that¡¯s true, that¡¯s unavoidable¡ªbut it would end and then something would begin¡ªyes!¡ªsomething new and fresh, something alive: unfathomable from down here when we could only see the ladder, but our imaginations ran ahead of us and we could see, craning our necks backward beyond what the spine would allow, peering up along the ladder, eyes following it up to heaven¡ªup there, up there, that was where we were headed, that was where we belonged, in a future world untouched by human hands, sculpted by inhuman hands, designed by godly hands, beyond what mortals could understand: there was a place for us where nobody needed to hide, it was up there¡ªa place where we could go as we pleased and show who we were¡ªit was up there¡ªa time when these self-imposed divisions would become dust¡ªup there¡ªand on that yet unplaced day we¡¯d go down to the park and run that final show and everyone in the entire world would see how the other half lives.

    Yes¡ªthere would be blood, there would always be blood, it goes without saying, change is always and eternally, backwards and forwards into infinity, in blood. Our blood, no. But we have written in blood enough.

    In the air there was the gentle smell of the sea. There were not many places in the city where that was true. That smell was an undercurrent¡ªbeneath the cooking oil and exhaust and concrete there was a little beating heart like the waves themselves, the smell of the sea, which would be here when everything else is gone, when the cooking oil is dried up and the exhaust drifts away and the concrete is ground into dust by wind, by water, by the toil of time.

    The smell of the sea would remain.

    After the blood, we would remain.

    000

    That evening, we returned home to his office. I guessed that this was part of it now¡ªhis study, where I was free to arrive and leave as I chose.

    A room in the house.

    When we came into the atrium, he looked around at the paintings. Didn¡¯t linger on anything for more than a moment, except for maybe the empty receptionist¡¯s desk. I didn¡¯t know if Jerome was supposed to be there or not. I didn¡¯t know what time it was.

    Wordlessly he went to the door and opened it, and we sat in the same places we were when this began¡ªeither side of a desk that no longer spanned the ocean. His eyes were fixed on me and I did my best to return the favor, even though I¡¯d long since lost the ability to consistently do it well.

    I didn¡¯t need to see his eyes to know the look he gave me. I remembered it from TV. From Yoru and Ava. It held no pretense. The look did not ask. It did not require. It saw¡ªit cataloged¡ªit knew but it did not suppose.

    It just was.

    Selfish as he¡¯d said this was I knew it was right. I needed this in the same way he needed it. Someone to crouch low and offer a hand and a quiet word to soothe the storm. I couldn¡¯t even possibly begin to know where to look for such a thing and neither could he. Those around him didn¡¯t see a person; they saw a force, a hurricane, who went as he pleased and destroyed any and all. There was no need to know more. The sum of his parts was a hurricane; the correct response to the hurricane was to flee; the end.

    There was no more understanding to be had. There was nothing left to know.

    And now¡ªfor me¡ªnow that I have nothing left to know, now that peace was upon me for the first time in my life¡ª

    Neville took the centerpiece of his pendant in his hands and looked at it, briefly. I¡¯d only given the pendant a passing thought before, but it occurred to me then that it must have been some important artifact to him¡ªa parent¡¯s necklace or something along those lines. Looking at it then, maybe he felt like he had finally done some good in his life.

    Something to make his parents proud again.

    Then he let go of the pendant and regarded me. He asked, ¡°How does it feel?¡±

    ¡°How does what feel?¡± I replied, quiet.

    ¡°How does it feel to be free?¡± he said.

    000

    Time numbs the evil I have done. The bad scabs over. I think everybody is like this, from what I can tell. In the moment the anxiety and the pain is all we know but in hindsight we remember it as a word, a tag on the feeling, but not the feeling itself.

    When I look back on my late days at the Radiant, I don¡¯t remember the sadness as much. I don¡¯t remember being numb. I know I was, and I can recall it as a feeling I had, but the sensation doesn¡¯t come when I call it. I have to actively work at it, force myself to feel something that doesn¡¯t match the present. Unless, of course, the state of mind I¡¯m in happens to match the feeling I had¡ªand then I am teleported there, instantly, with no recourse.

    When I recall this time, it¡¯s not like that. I feel peace. I see it. It¡¯s warm. It comforts me.

    I think about it all the time when I¡¯m low. I need to in order to keep myself centered. My natural state isn¡¯t like this¡ªit takes work to be someone worthy of feeling that way.

    But as the memories are re-written with recollections as memories do (fleeting as they are, even the strongest ones morph with repetition) the effect grows weaker.

    I know I felt Neville¡¯s look as loving then¡ªI know I felt him look at me the way a father looks at his child¡ªbut the more I think of it when times are hard the more the warmth fades. Every time I come back to harvest, there¡¯s less warmth to be had.

    I suspect, eventually, it will run out. I will have no more goodwill to strip from this time of my life, and it will flatten into a simple sequence like all the other things, with a little tag across the top that reminds me: ¡°you were happy then.¡±

    It can be done. That was my takeaway. It is possible to be healed.

    Even when dark times are upon me (now, it seems, more often than ever, even though my current situation is by far better than where I was at fifteen) I need this moment to remind me: I can be loved. It takes time, but I can be loved.

    I have to work at it, because so many parts of me are so rotted, but it can be done.

    I can be loved. It can be done.

    The mantra, when I need it most, sustains me.

    000

    I don¡¯t like to talk about my current situation. It¡¯s such that the people who know what I¡¯m up to know how I feel, and the people that don¡¯t are better off without that knowledge.

    It doesn¡¯t help anyone to complain, so I don¡¯t. All things considered, it could be a lot worse. I don¡¯t really need to do very much anymore. Things are generally under control.

    It¡¯s only because of this relative peace that I finally have the time to look back on these things that happened to me with any kind of a critical eye. Joining the Radiant, the war we fought, the machinations I was drawn into¡ªnow that these things are well glazed-over by time, I can finally lean in with a magnifying glass and try to see if there¡¯s anywhere I could have done things differently.

    Truthfully, I¡¯m still not sure. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s much I could have done with the knowledge I had in the moment. If I woke up on the morning of my twelfth birthday with everything I know now at twenty-five¡ªwell, first, I¡¯d probably kill myself immediately and save the trouble; but barring that (because I know I wouldn¡¯t be able to), I¡¯m not sure.

    Do I reject Prochazka? I don¡¯t think I could. In retrospect I realize that Prochazka probably didn¡¯t know what he wanted to do with me when he decided to go out and look. He must have just gotten extremely lucky with the timing. Recruitment was the easiest way to keep me off the street and in a position where he could make sure I didn¡¯t do anything to blow the lid off the charade too soon, and if he could have me do something productive for him while I was there, that was just icing. The fact that I took to the work well was extremely lucky, too.

    I wonder if he was hoping I wouldn¡¯t. That I was just disgruntled and sad as twelve-year-olds are and there was no deeper evil there.

    I could go down the list, but it doesn¡¯t really matter. I think I end up in the same place either way. Someone was always going to need me for something. No matter what direction the world decided to topple in, I was always going to be kept aside for a special occasion.

    There¡¯s just too much potential there to waste.

    I suppose, then, if I had to change anything¡ªif there was one thing I¡¯d do differently in all of this¡ªit would have to be here, right at the end, when there was only one thing left to do.

    I¡¯d have to have put it in motion earlier, but the difference in time doesn¡¯t particularly matter. All I would have needed to do was mention it and Neville would have made it happen. I just needed to bring it to his attention.

    In his haste to make things right, it¡¯s the only thing he glossed over. All things perfect except for this. And maybe Matthew¡¯s objections weren¡¯t good enough; maybe he needed me to say it, too. Maybe that would have made it real.

    Knowing what I know now about the way things end after all of this, I can say it with full confidence, even though it hurts to think this way, and I know I could never say it to their faces; even though there is no way either of them could possibly know, short of reading it in the ripples of my brain, wringing the words from my neck like I¡¯d seen her do. I had resisted it, passively, but only because I¡¯d never been put on the spot for it. I don¡¯t even know what I would have said if I was; I didn¡¯t know where they were. I didn¡¯t know what their plans were.

    But my explicit support would have made them double their efforts, I¡¯m sure. In my time with Neville in New York I had forgotten. She would be there at the end of time. More than me, she was an entity beyond reality. Any and all who stood in her way would wither. There was nothing that could possibly stand against her¡ªexcept me. I was the only being in the entire world strong enough to try.

    It was the only thing that stood between me and love forever.

    I needed to betray her.

 108 - Stare Into Death and Be Still [September 19th, Age 15]

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

 109 - Dim (11:46) [September 19th, Age 15]

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

 110 - ...And With Nothing Left To Fear [September 19th, Age 15]

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.