《🌙 WALK ME HOME: Darkness Fears the Human》 Part 1 - Monster Girlfriend Streetlights dimmed to a soft, rosy hue as an unusual couple strolled beneath a pitch black sky. Even the clouds hid behind a veil of darkness. The two lovebirds couldn''t care less, laughing away the night. The first of the pair appeared to be normal ... almost. His hoodie and jeans bore a blend of dark grays that whispered two words: ''urban camouflage''. With bronze skin, his burnt sienna dreadlocks draped a forehead-mounted device. It was like an eclectic mix between sunglasses, goggles and a visor. One could be forgiven for mistaking the large flashlight in his hand for a stun baton. If stun batons were BB guns, this was a bazooka. Things got weirder with the second of the pair. She was like the luminous pinks and reds of a plasma lamp poured out and given human form. Her dress? Nothing more than swirling swathes of lenticular clouds. Her hair was a furnace of dancing energy. With gliding footsteps light as air, it seemed the slightest breeze might carry her away. However, there was power in her footfalls. In the quietest moments, they could be heard meeting the ground. Thunder booms in the distance. That''s how they sounded. When she moved, the atmosphere shifted, like currents in the murky depths churning in the wake of a leviathan. Her rosy radiance forced its cozy subtly upon the environment, setting the mood. Vague images appeared in the air, depicting her story as she spoke. "I''m floating there, arms crossed, trying to look tough as the eyescraper falls and everything tilts sideways," she enthused. "The impact probably won''t hurt, but my fight or flight instincts don''t know that. Everyone''s screaming! The building is shrieking! I can''t tell if I''m squealing, but I hope not ''cause half my focus is on staring down the landlord, and the other is on not smacking into the wall. Before the whole thing hits the ground, he''s down on his knees on the side of the wall shouting: ''ALPHA AMY, HAVE MERCY! WE SUBMIT! THE LANDLORDS SWEAR-!'' Then the building hit the ground and he had to stop talking." "So that''s what I heard from across the city!" the boy laughed before sobering up. "Did they even survive? They''re monsters through and through, so I wouldn''t blame you if they didn''t, but ..." "No one forced them to feed people to their buildings," Amy declared. "Still, they''re mostly okay. Broken bones here and there, but nyctals are pretty hardy." "Did you have to dig them out of the rubble?" he asked. "Thank God, no," she answered, raising her hands in relief. "The building remained mostly intact due to ... ugh, organic reinforcement. Those soft, squishy insides cushioned the fall. Anyway, The Landlord''s District is mine now! Soon, we may be able to visit The Standpipe after dark again!" "Sweet!" he exclaimed. "That makes, what, six districts? At this rate, you''re gonna ..." "Seize the night, all of it," she finished with an ambitious grin. "No more hiding. People are gonna be able to walk around, just like this. Well, except those who wanna be monsters inside and out. They should be afraid,''????ca?????u????se????? I???''????m??? c???o?????mi?????n????g.?????"???? Several streetlights exploded, leaving them in near-total darkness, save the soft glow of her body. They hustled towards the closest unaffected streetlight. "Sorry, Norman. I¡¯m still getting used to this," Amy whispered. "Something, something, ''1% of My Power''," Norman quietly quipped. She laughed lightly. "Why are we whispering, though? Nothing''s gonna approach us in my neighbourhood, especially when I''m-" A waft of wind tickled Norman''s ear as something passed audibly near. He spun, his high-powered flashlight levelled like a weapon. Its beam pierced the darkness behind them. Nothing. Nonetheless, he kept himself between his girlfriend and the dark, searing the beam into any suspicious shadows as they took refuge under the streetlight. The night lit up as he adjusted the flashlight for wide-area coverage, sacrificing intensity. It parted the rosy atmosphere. Amy''s body growled, as did something in the air. It pressing down on Norman: a warning. They ignored it. He''d done too little to provoke an attack. Either way, he didn''t care. His only concern was keeping her safe. She watched him, agape. "You shielded me without a second thought ¡­" "You never know if someone''s figured out how to hurt you," Norman whispered so as to avoid missing pertinent sounds. Amy choked up a little. "Th-thank you, but it''s okay-!" He spotted something and swatted it from the air with his flashlight. Roughly the size of a baby bird, it squeaked a screech, shook off the blow and groggily flittered at him. He pinned it to the ground with the wide focus beam. It hissed as it tried and failed to crawl towards him. "That''s not a moth, is it?" Norman asked incredulously. "No," she clarified, scrutinising the feisty little thing. "I think it''s a brainfly. One isn''t much of a problem. A dozen? That''s where it gets iffy. They''re attracted to minds, the same way moths are attracted to light, except they feed on mental energy. With enough of these nyctals buzzing around your head, you zone out and wander around, unable to form a proper thought." "Until something gets you," he added. "Until something gets you," she confirmed. "They''re good at keeping victims alive and out of harm''s way, injecting sedatives and nutrient fluids through their stingers. Of course, that can''t last forever." "Okay, that''s terrible. Buh bye, little jerk. You will not be missed," Norman declared as he refocused his flashlight on the nyctal. Its squeals reached a new pitch. "Wait!" Amy yelped. "This creature plays a small but vital role in the ecosystem! It should be allowed to fulfil its purpose ..." A strand of her ¡®hair¡¯ snaked onto the brainfly¡¯s head. It steamed and spasmed. "... of feeding an apex predator," she finished. Its head exploded and the strand withdrew into her body. She sighed in satisfaction before frowning. "Oh, that just made me hungrier," Amy pouted. "You''re still hungry?" he bemoaned. "Uh, yes? No? Yesn''t?" she fumbled. "The steak you made me was wonderful, but I''m always hungry ... in a different way." She fidgeted under his sympathetic gaze. "It''s not that big of a deal, hee," Amy insisted with a nervous breath of a laugh. Norman raised an eyebrow with a sly smirk. "You know, you do that when you lie sometimes." "Wut?" she asked, her face falling. "It''s really cute," he opined. "Do what?" demanded a flustered Amy. "I''ve said too much," he teased. She grabbed him by the collar. "At least tell me so I can do it intentionally!" Their laughter revived the amicable atmosphere. "So ... what do minds taste like?" Norman asked with a predatory grin. She guffawed. "Okay, wow, you actually went there. Hm ... they don''t taste like anything, really, but they do have a sensory flavour of sorts. Technically, I¡¯m always eating electromagnetic energy and other stuff, hence the streetlights, but that¡¯s not enough. It¡¯s like water, while minds are food. The brainfly was like a gourmet chef poured out his heart and soul with cheese, spices and sauces! ... into a single French fry. It''ll leave you annoyingly hungry and the worst part is HE SQUEEZED A TINY PICKLE INSIDE IT!" "That¡¯s oddly specific," Norman chuckled. "What do nyctals taste like?" "It depends," she mused. "Animals are like buttered salt bread with a bit of that flavourless, no-brand cheese neither of us appreciates. They might have hot pepper, or mayonnaise, or Bajan seasoning, but it''s all fluff, no meat or veggies. You can''t really live off of them. Sapient nyctals are ... well, I''ve never had a whole one before. I just take a little off the top: memories, thoughts, moods, you get the pic. It''s like eating your eccentric aunt''s traditional soup, with just a little pickle in it. Sure, it has what looks like eyeballs floating around, but food is food. You don''t wanna make her angry or she¡¯ll get the guava stick and she doesn''t care that corporal punishment''s illegal." "Was that a personal-experience kind of thing?" asked Norman. "Ha, yeah, but the thing is you sort of end up liking it," she went on. "You drink the soup but leave the meat. It''s nutritious enough, so you can kind of get by without touching the mind''s core. I know most nyctals are jerks, but it doesn''t feel right to go all the way, y''know?" "Yeah," agreed Norman. She continued. "Normal humans are-" Amy slapped her hands over her mouth, wide eyes frozen on Norman. He returned her gaze casually. She began to relax, tilting her head and blinking inquisitively. "You should have had a bigger reaction to that." "Why?" he asked. "I presumed you weren¡¯t finished, so I''m hearing you out." "Aww, you''re so sweet," she cooed. "Right, um ... just to clarify, I''ve never fully had a human before. This thing has." She gestured her own body. "Many of its memories don''t make sense to me, like reading an alien language, but I remember when it ... it ¡­" The lights dimmed as the environment changed. A more ordinary-looking spectre of Amy stepped out of nowhere and heedlessly walked through Norman, eyes on the sky. Wrapped up in her thoughts as she stared at the ground, Amy probably didn¡¯t know she was projecting memories again. The other Amy gazed up at a rosy radiance curdling in the twilight clouds. It was beautifully ethereal, exquisitely eldritch. She seemed entranced. The world of monsters was new to her, but it was not forgiving. Sanguine streams of aurora pounced from the anomaly in the sky, enveloping her skull and lighting it up like a dying torch. They receded. Her body fell. Only a smoking gap remained atop her shoulders. Her disembodied form floated between its abstracted jaws. Their teeth converged, punctured her thoughts, emotions and memories. She screamed. She roared, tore away the teeth and ignored those that remained. Amy plunged into its core. The monster wailed as she clawed, strangled and dug her fingers deep. The membrane between the core and herself ruptured. It bled and mended itself back together, but she was already inside. They were one. The memory ended. Norman¡¯s fists were clenched. Amy looked up. "... I know what the human mind tastes like, because I remember the moment when our minds overlapped as it devoured mine."Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Norman reached for her shoulder. It sprouted hungry tendrils that reached back. His hand hovered and reluctantly withdrew. Seemingly oblivious, she stared at her ethereal palm and flexed the fingers the way they should, then the way they definitely shouldn¡¯t. Amy looked around at the rosy aura that turned her world to monochrome. ¡°The thing I hate the most has become my flesh and blood,¡± she stated. "You beat it," he declared. "Did I?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s not dead and it¡¯s not tame. All it needs is an excuse. Do you ever get tired of walking on eggshells?" "... Yeah," he admitted. "But I don''t think about it like that. I was sure you were dead. To find out you fought back and took control of its body? That''s more than I could ask for. Besides, this avatar is fiiiire." She couldn''t keep the smile off her face if she tried. "It¡¯s a lure slash feeding apparatus.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s luring me,¡± he smirked. She chuckled. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you were into monsters." "I''m into you. Always you," Norman declared, eyes emanating warm sincerity. Amy blushed. Everything blushed. Her rosy radiance mellowed to pink. The streetlights followed its influence, painting the area with her emotions. Amy glided to his side and wrapped her arms around one of his, leaning into his shoulder with a sigh of pure contentment. Her curly hair tendrils slithered across him like creeping vines. Norman tensed, steeling his nerves lest they surrender their electrical lifeblood to her hunger. He trusted her, but there was some fragment of his mind that expected his arm to deaden permanently. It didn¡¯t. Instead, a glowing warmth ebbed and flowed up his arm, into his torso. It was like sitting next to a fire on a chilly night, but the fire had walked up to him to get close and personal, yet it didn''t burn. He felt contented, loved ... were these her emotions? If only he could return the feeling. He leant his head atop of hers, knowing that it wouldn''t come close to reciprocating the effect, but pouring his heart into the gesture nonetheless. Maybe, just maybe, she would feel something. They settled into a slow, comfortable walk. Finally, Amy spoke up. "Heh, maybe I should have let the A.M.E. get me sooner," she jested. Norman froze mid-step. "Hol'' up!" She gave him a light punch. "Dude, I''ve been dropping hints forever!" "I asked you out multiple times!" he retorted. "I was playing ''hard to get'', and other stupidly tropey excuses," she sheepishly laughed. "So, how''s your arm? Any numbness?" "Nope. You''re getting good at contact," he praised. "Thanks. I bet I can hold a phone now," she supposed. "Well, you''re in luck," he beamed while fishing such an item from his pocket. "I fixed yours, E.M.P.-hardened it, and just generally hardened it." She gasped. "Really? Lemme see!" Amy snatched the phone from his hands and eagerly turned it on, inputting her P.I.N. She bounced in excitement. "YES! No more rainbows on the touch screen!" Her enthusiasm fell as the phone buzzed. ''Mom is requesting a video call'' it notified. With a shaky breath, she switched the camera off, set it to loudspeaker and answered. "M-Mom! Hi!" "AMY! YOU HAVEN''T CALLED IN WEEKS! WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY??" gushed her mother. "I ... s-sorry, my phone was damaged. Norman just fixed it for me," Amy explained. "What happened to your voice?" her mother probed. Amy''s blood ran cold. She didn''t technically have blood, but the vestigial sensation was there. She cleared her throat. There was no windpipe, but something in her neck made the sound. She might have gone insane, if not for these facsimiles of a human body, but she couldn''t fix the flanging in her voice yet. Norman put a hand on her shoulder. That was enough to steady her a bit. "I might be coming down with something, hee," Amy lied. ¡°It¡¯s been pretty chilly.¡± ¡°You''ve been outside at night," her mother accused. "W-well ... I had to-" "There¡¯s no ''had to''!" her mother exclaimed in near-panic. "Once a nyctal gets you, that''s it!" "One of them''s protecting us," Amy asserted. ¡°¡­ The atmospheric mind-eater?" her mother tentatively asked. Amy paled. "... Yes, but this A.M.E. behaves differentl-" "You don¡¯t talk to it, you don''t go near it, you move out of that neighbourhood as fast as possible," her mother asserted. "What if it caught someone like Norman?" pressed Amy. "What if it started acting like him?" An uncomfortable silence followed. "Amy, is Norman okay?" came the inevitable question. "He¡¯s fine," Amy confirmed. "Good," her mother breathed. "I know what you''re trying to say: You want to believe that it''s the actual person, not just a mimicry. You want to believe they can become the A.M.E. and maybe some kind of hero. We barely know anything about these things, but we do know that when they eat someone''s mind, they''re very good at pretending to be them, and they just get smarter as time goes on." "We don''t even know that," Amy insisted. "This ''mimicry'' could be the actual victim, being used as a lure." "That''s the problem: ''being used as a lure''," her mother emphasised. "Amy, you have a good heart, but you can''t afford to make this mistake. You have to assume the A.M.E. is just that: a mind-eater pretending to be a person." "... Yeah," Amy finally agreed, wiping away the water that condensed in her eyes. "Anyway, I''ll be in touch." "But you just got your phone back! I¡¯ve done nothing but snap so far!" her mother argued. "I wonder whose fault that is,¡± Amy sassed with an eyeroll. ¡°I''ll call again in an hour or so. Just gotta finish a recipe I''ve been working on, hee- um, he gave me some pointers. Norman, I mean." ¡°You can''t cook," her mother stated flatly. Amy snerked a laugh. "I know! That''s why I''m trying to figure it out! Mom, you are so mean. It''s harder to move freely these days and eateries are closing left, right and centre.¡± "And all it took was a localised apocalypse for you to learn how to cook!" her mom added. "You shouldn''t make light of such predicaments, dearest mother," chastened Amy. "Sometimes, that''s all you can do," her mother argued with sombre sobriety. "Well, you better attend that alleged ''recipe''. With all the nyctals running around, if you die for some lame reason like burning the house down again, we¡¯ll be having words in Heaven." "''Again''?" chuckled Norman. Amy grimaced a tooth-gritted grin. "Why are you like this, Mom?" "Love you too, honey," quipped her mother. "Oh, did I just hear Normie? Normie, heyyyy! Wait, why are you in my daughter''s house?" "He-got-stuck-here-after-dark,-I-love-you-buh-bye!" Amy gushed. "Love you too," her mother growled. Amy made as though to end the call. Her finger hovered over the red button. Brow furrowed, she stared at the phone as seconds ticked by. The glazed eyes of her mother''s avatar gazed back. "... Hello?" her mother ventured. Finally, Amy ended the call with a heavy breath. "She never hangs up first. I could literally burn her livelihood down, and she''ll never hang up first ... but of course, she still thinks I''m her daughter ¡­" The streetlights dimmed and began to die. Her luminous form faded. Norman raised his hands in a placatory manner. "Amy-" She gave a broken chuckle. "You keep calling me that, but-" He hugged her. Pangs of fear and despair that were not his own lanced through his body like lightning. Their fury quelled as the clouds within her heart began to clear, giving way to rays of warmth that echoed his affection. So, she could feel his heart. Their souls sang. His feet left the ground as she carried him into the air, floating in slow, savoury circles. Moments or minutes could have passed and he would not know. Finally, she broke the silence. "How do you know you''re hugging Amy? You could be hugging the monster that killed her, and it just thinks it¡¯s her." "It''s hard to know anything for certain in this world," Norman mused. "Always was, but as far as we know, A.M.E.s focus on luring out victims, and that''s it. Why would yours pretend to be you for so long without a payoff?" "What if it figured out how to play the long game?" she asked. "By using me to make the night safer, it could lull people into a false sense of security for a mass feeding. I might not be a mimicry so much as a Manchurian candidate: a double agent that doesn''t realise it''s a double agent." "I don''t think the A.M.E. would let you say that if you were. It''s too risky," reasoned Norman. "I suppose so," she agreed. "Sure, they get smarter, but this seems too big of a leap," Norman added. "And if you''re wrong?" she pressed. He paused. Shadowy possibilities passed behind his intelligent eyes. It was a painful relief. "You''re being realistic. That''s comforting," she praised a little more tersely than was intended. "Hope for the best, plan for the worst," Norman declared. "As far as we know, you''re still you, you''re mostly in control, and unless new information arises, we have no reason to assume otherwise." "I like that," she agreed. "For such a smart guy, you really know how to make it simple." "Well, which is smarter? Overcomplicating life into a headache or simplifying tricky stuff?" he asked. "... Hey, you''re right!" Amy agreed before looking down. "Aaaand we''re here." They touched down and parted before her front gate. "So, how was your first flight?" she asked. "Still no numbness?" "Just a little numbness," he confessed. "Worth it, though." "Sometime, I wanna really take you flying," Amy enthused. "I can push just over 300 mph, but I''m getting faster. Supersonic speed would be so cool! The hardest part is making sure my ambient biomass moves with me. I could fly you to the top of skyscrapers so you can parkour down! No need to worry about falling, ''cause my mass will work as a safety net. I might even be able to simulate low gravity for some next-level stunts!" His eyes widened. "That sounds insanely awesome, and I cannot wait." Amy giggled at his enthusiasm and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Well, g''night." "Goodnight," echoed Norman. Amy took a few gliding steps to the door and opened it. She stopped and turning back to him with a frown. "Norman? We''ve talked about me all night," she stated. "Is there anything you wanna get off your chest?" He put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his toes. "Thanks, but I''m good." She half-smirked and leant against the doorframe. "You know, you do that when you''re nervous, and I don''t actually need sleep anymore." He ceased his rocking. "True, but you need a break. You''ve been going for days." "Yeah, but this is a two-way relationship. I always have time for you, Normie," Amy assured. "I know," he smiled appreciatively. "It''s okay. I''m working out some stuff, but I''ll be fine." She searched his eyes. "... Alright. I''ll respect that. I love you." "Love you too," Norman replied. The air shifted towards her, stirring up treetops and greenery in her garden. The rosy hue that followed her everywhere receded into the house. In the absence of its stifling embrace, the streetlights returned to their natural brightness. She closed the door, but her house wasn''t big enough to contain the monochrome nimbus. Instead, its excess settled around the building like a miniature atmosphere. "That''s all her," he whispered in amazement. Without her aura of influence, the night¡¯s chill caught up with him. Norman gazed back at a road that looked almost unrecognisably uninviting, shadows so deep that they may well be abysses. He took a brisk breath. ¡°Alright, here we go.¡± Norman hastily removed his backpack and retrieved a tiny, camouflage-gray drone that took to the air with barely a sound. He pulled down his visor. It illuminated his vision without the pesky green tint of night vision goggles. With the press of a button, its cameras went live in sync with the omnidirectional ones on the drone. He grinned at the drone as he began a swift walk. "''Eyyyy, Night Seizers!" he whispered. "Welcome the 7th episode of Carpe Noche. Some of you trolls (you know who you are) said unsavory things about my claims of being out and about at night. Many of you more reasonable folks rightly wondered if they had a point, buried beneath the verbal diarrhea they call an ''opinion''. I get it: tensions are high, we''re all a little cranky, it looks like the end of the world, at least for those of us quarantined in this crazy city. You might have wondered if my gear is too ''Batmany'' to work in real life. I understand that. You''ve also heard rumours that I''m dating the girl who pulled a Duo Reverse Card on an A.M.E. and now she¡¯s basically a superhero. Yes, that¡¯s true, and no, I will not go out of my way to present proof because our relationship isn''t for clout. Believe me or not, all I¡¯ll say is this: I like to walk her home after dates, or rather, she walks me. Nothing that knows better messes with us when we¡¯re together, but getting back on my own? That¡¯s the challenge ¡­ She has a lot on her plate. I don¡¯t wanna over-rely on her. Moving at night is tricky, but I think we can work it out. Today¡¯s focus is gear and street survival." The sound of a massive, fleshy form was slopping behind him, closing in at a fervent pace. He began to run. "You''ve seen me explain D.I.Y. assembly processes and survival techniques. It''s time for a demo on the field. If you want reliable, stress-tested gear, I''m always happy to supply, but this is very much something you can learn to make yourself. Note: This is not for children." Norman reached an abandoned building and retrieved a Springle can from his backpack with practiced fluidity. He hurled it against the ground lengthwise to the wall and it exploded, scattering spices and salt in a horizontal carpet. So long as whatever was behind him continued in a straight line, it was unavoidable. Norman made sure the visor''s camera had seen what he was doing. He scaled the wall like a monkey, using ledges, pipes, crevices and any other foothold or handhold he could find. "I recommend reserving night travel for emergencies unless you''re confident enough to risk your life. Why am I doing this at all? Because we''ve charted the oceans and mapped the stars, sent men to the Mariana Trench and The Moon. We fly without wings and wound without touching. We move hundreds of miles farther and faster than any other creature without taking a single step." The fleshy thing squealed like a swine upon glopping onto his salt and spices. However, it was tenacious, pushing through. He heard the scraping sound of its toothy tongue striking concrete like a climbing pickaxe as it writhed up the wall after him. It was closing the distance. "We''ve fought lions on the savannah and battled polar bears on the tundra. Apex predators learnt to fear us." The thing was practically breathing down his heels when he pulled himself onto the rooftop. He drew his flashlight like a sword and beamed it into the fleshy beast''s face. The light revealed its identity: a slug, albeit the size of an elephant. Its toothy tongue and six eyestalks, some for seeing, some for grasping, all writhed like tentacles in a discordant dance. The slug''s hissing screech was deafening as the flashlight''s beam drew steam from its reddening face. He never flinched. With a sharp *ZWACK!* of his flashlight baton, he struck one of the slug''s eyes and it recoiled off of the wall, hitting the ground in a wet splat. "The Night Shift is just another hurdle to overcome. I''m out here tonight to show you just how possible it is, because at the end of the day, we are image-bearers of infinite potential. We don''t merely survive. We thrive. Every now and then, man and monster need a reminder of what it means to be human."
Thanks for reading! Read ahead on Patreon, with a free version and a visual version! Part 2 - Twilight Angel The crisp, oxygen-rich air rushed against Norman¡¯s face and filled his lungs. His footfalls were silent as the dead of night as he stole across the rooftops, running, vaulting, climbing, rolling. The grace of a predator was upon him. He glanced at the drone as it whirred at his side. ¡°I know what you¡¯re probably thinking: ¡®Is it smart to keep parkouring around after throwing hands with that lovely little slug beast?¡± Norman whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t you have to watch your stamina? The rooftops are safer ... except when they''re not. I can¡¯t go home the way I came ¡®cause chances are something¡¯s out there, expecting me to do just that. So, I change things up a bit. This roundabout route ain¡¯t great, but it¡¯s usually not too bad so long as I move quickly. The problem is, in theory, parkour makes noise and takes a lot of energy. Normally, going bump in the night attracts the actual things that go bump in the night. Who knew? The sad truth in this city is that sometimes, you gotta run for your life, but what if you could stomp around as much as you want without making a sound, while pampering your poor, overworked trotters with a taste of Heaven?" A tricky path lay ahead. Flat stretches of floor became a rarity. His feet never missed it. Every step was a new ledge, railing, pipe, roof vent duck or otherwise. Navigating it all without a second thought, he scarcely slowed. His OoTube chat was blowing up: __CHAT: "I mean, if you''re gonna run for your life, why not treat your feet to some software that''s actually soft?¡± Norman pitched. ¡°''Sneakers'' are for prey. ''Prowlers'' are for predators! It''s a dirty little secret that commercial products aren''t generally built to last, ''cause who''s gonna buy more when you''re set for life? Not these babies. You''ll grow old and die with them (unlessyoudon''t)! After painfully testing several prototypes by sprinting on the mucus of a giant slug, it''s safe to say the traction is as aight as it gets!" __CHAT: Motion blurs muddled his visor''s camera footage. The world was whirling. However, the drone camera caught what the visor couldn''t. He''d broken into a combo of somersaults, rolls, aerial spirals, and other exotic tricks that spun his body 360¡ã. Every maneuver maximised efficiency in some way or another. __CHAT: His voice reflected the effort, but it was disproportionately low. ¡°When you¡¯re firing on all cylinders, one slip can end your adventures. As you can see, so long as you have a stable surface, prowlers do not slip.¡± __CHAT: Norman sized up a large gap between the buildings. He accelerated and launched himself across it. His fingers latched onto the next rooftop and he fluidly hoisted himself atop it, finally taking a moment to look back. __CHAT: "More like 13.86 metres, to be precise" Norman replied before resuming his run. "Maybe it''s time I address one cool thing about The Night Shift. Normally, traceurs will only parkour at full tilt for about fifteen seconds. If you can make thirty to forty seconds, you''re a legend but here? We''ve got nothing but stamina. Those of you outside the city might be a little confused, but the air is different in the ''quarantine dome'', as they put it. I don''t know if it''s the nyctals themselves or what, but something''s created a hyperbaric atmosphere. That means boat loads of oxygen. Breathe this long enough and your health and stamina jump off the chart. It''s actually hard to get tired in here. It¡¯s not just physical health. My mind feels wide and open, like all my life someone''s been standing on a hose in my head and they''ve finally stepped off so the thoughts can flow free. Engineering headaches just started making sense. Under normal conditions, mastering any field requires dedicated chunks of your life, but you can¡¯t be an Olympic level sprinter, long jumper and gymnast all at once. You have to choose, but what if you could do it all? In this atmosphere, you can. When those cross-disciplinary abilities combine, you get something greater than the sum of its parts. It looks like a superpower, but it¡¯s not. In fiction, it''s referred to as the ¡®peak human condition¡¯. Of course, here, it¡¯s no longer fiction." __CHAT: "If any of you are looking for hyper-competent hires in remote work, the people of this city are practically a goldmine. Feel free to reach out, but don''t try to take advantage of our situation, ''cause with our brainpower we''ll see it coming from a mile off. Not to mention we''re kind of pugnacious due to the constant threat of life or death ... I''m rambling. Anyway, being a peak human isn¡¯t a good excuse to go around trying to bare-knuckle a nyctal. If you wanna fight monsters, you''ll need sum heap gud gear." He tapped his visor, before demonstrating its features through the screen shared camera feed as he addressed them. "I call it ''nightsight''. Unlike traditional night vision goggles, these provide near-true colour rendering of nocturnal environments. All you need is star light for some decent visibility. You can switch to infrared, ultraviolet, gamma radiation, and more. Why? In this crazy city, it''s better safe than sorry. You can even combine settings. My favourite? Mixing infrared and visible light: anything with a heat signature stands out, but you can still sort of see the world as it''s supposed to look. Then there''re the augmented reality features so I can see the chat or anything else I so choose while I''m doing my thing." __CHAT:If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. "There''s also a telescopic zoom ..." Norman added, scanning his surroundings with the feature until he caught sight of a massive, twitching cocoon hanging from the side of a building, its spotted markings pulsing dim light. "Ooh! That''s the cocoon of a twilight angel! It''s derivative of a Pseudosphinx tetrio moth with phenotypical traits of a firefly ... I think ... this one looks unusual. They have a love-hate relationship with light. Unlike most nyctals, they''re fine with a little brightness and they use bioluminescence to ward off others. They''re also among the precious few nyctals that won''t try to bite off your face the moment they see you! They''ll just destroy your garden, but otherwise they''re pretty ... friendly ..." A wiggling form with writhing antennae and squirming legs emerged from the far edge of the cocoon¡¯s rooftop. __CHAT: The freshly dubbed ¡®daddy long legger¡¯ scuttled towards the twilight angel. The angel within it tore a peephole through the cocoon. Norman doubted it was a coincidence. Perhaps it sensed the danger and accelerated its hatching process. The giant moth¡¯s neotenic, compound eyes peeked through the gap. Rigid as they were, those eyes seemed to widen as it caught sight of the daddy long legger approaching. Its struggles to break free grew frantic, lest its birthing place become its tomb. The long legger casually reached towards it. __CHAT: Norman made his decision. He beamed his flashlight at the daddy long legger¡¯s spider end. It collapsed and spasmed, but the centipede tail rose up and flailed. Mandibles clacked blindly, seeking out whatever it¡¯s aggressor may be. That moment of distraction changed everything. A mantis-like appendage tore free of the cocoon with an eerie shaft of light. It skewered the spider end. The centipede tail lashed at it, only to impale itself against the now-lifted appendage. The daddy long legger stilled. __CHAT: Having rent the cocoon apart, the twilight angel flopped onto the rooftop, gingerly cleaning its large, compound eyes as its feathery antennae drooped in exhaustion. It poked at the daddy long legger, which did not stir. Upon confirming that its enemy was super dead, it turned its attention upon Norman and tilted its head. __CHAT: "Mascot? Cool idea, but I don¡¯t wanna die, so maybe no. Second, ''she''s'' a guy," Norman whispered, watching its abdomen. __CHAT: Towering two storeys tall on graceful tendrils like fibre optic feathers, the twilight angel spread its iridescent wings as soft, luminous colours rippled across them. It rubbed its mantid forelimbs together like a musician tenderly caressing his violin. This action elicited a clarion tune like the call of a cricket or a songbird. Norman had to admit that there truly was an angelic beauty to this menacing entity. It seemed to stare at him now, as much as any creature with compound eyes can be discerned to stare. He knew it was just primal instincts, but the spots on its wings, over one metre in diameter, registered in his mind as eyes more than the angel¡¯s actual eyes. That was by design: a form of mimicry, like the false eyes some ordinary moths used to deter predators. However, there was ¡­ a quality within them, a life that resonated with the rings rippling in on them from the edges of its wings. Something ¡­ didn¡¯t feel right. Better safe than sorry. He decided to move on. His legs didn¡¯t respond. He tried to lift his flashlight. His arm only twitched. Norman¡¯s heart raced, but there he stood as a living, breathing statue, his eyes transfixed on those wings. Slowly, methodically, the angel¡¯s tail tentacles walked it towards him. It had time. He did not. Forelimbs clasped as if in prayer, the angel rubbed them together, susurrating its haunting song. . . . . . . S???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????A???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????F???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????E???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????T???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????Y??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? . . . . . . ¡­ What? His vision blurred. When it cleared, the twilight angel was several feet closer. Its leisurely pace had not changed, as far as he could tell. The problem was his own. Had he blacked out for a moment? The phenomenon of missing time came to mind. The chat¡¯s stream of comments had tricked to a stop. Surely, they¡¯d at least say something, if they could. Maybe they couldn¡¯t. It was an outrageous theory, bolstered by the discovery that he couldn¡¯t shout. He was trying. This would not do. Norman channeled every ounce of his willpower. His arm quavered. Muscles rebelled. The flashlight felt as though it weighed a ton. He didn¡¯t care. It would move, because he wanted it to, and move it did. Slowly but surely, it lined up the shot. The approaching monster was still several metres away. Another blackout. The angel overshadowed him, mantid blades close enough to touch as it arched above to gaze down upon him. Its wings were his sky, his world. Absorbed by their mesmerising rings, he almost lost his capacity to think. He had to do ¡­ something ¡­ something important ¡­ what was it? Oh, right. With one last ounce of willpower, he flipped the switch. The beam hit it point blank. *KRACK!* A sharp impact racked his wrist. The flashlight went flying. No sooner had he fired off the beam than the angel smacked away his flashlight with a swipe of its hooked tibia. The its wings stopped pulsing. Norman stumbled back with a gasp, suddenly able to move and breathe freely. __CHAT: Norman glanced at the flashlight. It had landed on the rooftop. That was nice, but it might as well be a million miles away. The twilight angel¡¯s feathery tendrils had cupped him in a squirming cage. He was tempted to make a break for it and see if it was possible to shove through them. However, he wasn¡¯t eager to find out if he was fast enough to dodge those mantid reaper blades. Norman glared up at the angel: a small act of defiance. The false eyes on its wings shrank as though narrowing. He raised an eyebrow. One false eye grew wider, shrinking back to normal when he returned his eyebrow to its proper symmetry. Could it be ¡­? He barely raised his hand as he chanced a tentative wave. It twitched a tibia up and down, then slowly, gingerly, rubbed its mantid limbs together, repeating its tune. S???????????????A???????????????????????????F???????????????????????????E???????????????????????????T???????????????????Y??????????????????????????? That ¡­ almost made sense in his head. The tune hadn¡¯t changed, but somehow it brought a word to the tip of Norman¡¯s mind. He puckered his lips and whistled an approximation of the tune. At first, the angel didn¡¯t react. Finally, it removed the cage of tendrils. Was he free? Oh, not quite. He didn¡¯t dare move yet as it moved the blunt end of its hooked tibia even nearer to his head. The two-clawed tarsus at the tip began to fiddle with his hair. Eying it warily, he leant away from the claws just a smidgeon. The tarsus didn¡¯t follow him. It stopped flexing. The angel withdrew it, slowly backing away. It fidgeted, rubbed at its antennae, then twitched its tibia up and down the way it had when he waved. Norman felt the shadow of a grin begin to form on his face. ¡°Well, how ¡®bout that?¡± Still, assuming he understood the intentions of such an alien mind was presumptuous at best. He inched towards his flashlight. The twilight angel¡¯s antennae twitched. It raised its head to the sky. Norman knit his brow and followed its gaze. He heard the beat of wings that whistled. Part 3 - Whistling Wings The twilight angel¡¯s antennae twitched. It raised its head to the sky. Norman knit his brow and followed its gaze. He heard the beat of wings that whistled. Norman dove out of the way. Steely talons gouged the roof where he''d stood. Their wielder receded into the sky with a cooing howl, accentuated by a chorus of chirping. Though the black sky revealed nothing, the whistle of its wings audibly shifted to and fro. It was circling. Sparing a glance to monitor the angel, Norman dashed for the flashlight. ¡°It¡¯s not just a ¡®flashlight¡¯. Not anymore,¡± he declared. Norman dove, snatched it up mid-roll, removed the safety and dialed up the settings. Its inductor to life with an ominous whine. *fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ...* "Ladies and gents, it''s time I officially introduced the SMITELIGHT!" he declared. *FFFOOOOOOOMM!* Raised to the sky, Norman¡¯s smitelight flooded the heavens with lurid radiance. Clouds, formerly featureless amid the dark, were rendered in stark detail. There it was, diving towards him: a brown, freckled bird the size of a small aircraft, engulfed in a massive tangle of branches. The light brought its smooth descent to shambles. He focused the beam on it and vaulted over an A.C. vent, taking cover. The roof shook as the bird came crashing down atop it. __CHAT ¡°Whistling-wing,-matriarch,¡± Norman rapidly explained: ¡°Night-shifted-wood-dove. New-variant.¡± Norman was already running. The injured bird throbbed an intricate coo. Clicking claws. Something caught up with him. It pounced from the edge of his vision. Almost without thinking, he struck it out of the air. Sparks exploded from the collision of his electrified smitelight. The twitching form of a featherless fledgling whistling wing sprawled unconscious on the floor. Ordinarily, the sight would evoke sympathy, but at the size of a coyote? With the structure of a velociraptor and claws the size of thumbs on its wingtips? This was no innocent party. He didn¡¯t have time to think about that anyway. The fledglings were all around him, pouring from the tangle of sticks enveloping the giant bird: a mobile nest. Too swift to outrun, they swarmed and converged to the throbbing coos from the matriarch¡¯s commands. The fall had broken its wing, but not its voice. Eyes sealed shut, the fledglings were blind, but the matriarch¡¯s voice was their guiding light. Norman¡¯s thoughts warred with his will: ~There are too many. ?I? ?c?a?n? ?d?o? ?t?h?i?s?.? No? ?o?p?e?n?i?n?gs?.? I¡¯ll make one. Y?o?u? ?c?a?n?¡¯?t?.? I WILL!~ Something snapped, broke and opened. His world grew faster and slower simultaneously, but he somehow knew nothing really changed. Nothing without, but within. His peripheral vision parted like a veil as his eyes drank intricate details about a dozen fledglings without having to focus on a single one. Each sound splashed and bent around his surroundings before reaching his ear. He heard shapes, tasted scents, felt the folds of his outfit warping with every ebb and flow of air, thick like water. That thought ¡­ it brought him back without taking him anywhere. It brought him back to words he sought to embody. In an enigmatic city besieged by The Night Shift, he believed he¡¯d succeeded, but he was wrong. Oh, so very wrong. ¡°Be like water, making its way through the cracks. Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless. Now, water can flow, or it can crash. Be water, my friend.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. A fledgling¡¯s clawed wingtip was heading for his neck. Seven millimetres away, it would never get closer. Norman had pivoted, guiding its body away with a palm the way one would brush a stray lock out of their face. He stepped over a fledgling snapping at his ankle with the casual air of climbing a stair. His focus was elsewhere, narrowing upon a path where there once was none. A flick of the switch. *FFAASSH!* The smitelight¡¯s quick burst stunned all in his path like the blast of a shotgun. He advanced. It was neither a walk nor a run. It was whatever he needed it to be. Norman waded through the swarming fledglings like a crowded street. Claws and beaks skimmed his clothes and skin. They never penetrated. Of course, a pedestrian crowd didn¡¯t actively go out of its way to bite and slash. When contact was inevitable, he introduced them to his fists, feet, knees, elbows, shoulders, any miscellaneous part of his body that proved appropriate. When that wasn¡¯t enough, he reintroduced them to each other. Tender touches tweaked their momentum into little meetings, noisy and chaotic as any family reunion ought to be. Then there were the lucky birdies who got a lightshow to the face. He never did more than he had to with tiny moves that had no names. They weren¡¯t the relatively rigid, martial arts techniques he had mastered through tens of thousands of repetitions. Training was the riverbed. This was the water. It just ¡­ made sense in the moment, and only in the moment. Through it all, the twilight angel watched inscrutably from the sidelines. For a time, the chat was speechless. __CHAT Norman had slipped through the cracks. The swarm was behind him. He didn¡¯t even turn to look at them. He knew where each one was. His smitelight was already aimed backwards, lining up the shot to blanket blast them all. A warning tickled in his mind. *fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ¡­* ~No flash. Not enough juice.~ That was enough to snap him out of whatever altered state of consciousness he achieved. Norman swapped the smitelight back to its normal settings as the matriarch bayed a baleful coo. The fledglings¡¯ heads snapped towards him in unison. At low charge, he wouldn¡¯t be able to stun all of them, but maybe- The twilight angel lunged into the whistling wing and latched on, its tentacles constricting like an anaconda. The giant avian redirected its fledglings to attack the angel. He didn''t stick around to find out what happened next, but judging from the sound of snapping branches and possibly bones, things were not going well for the whistling wing. Norman leapt off the side of the building. He slowed his descent with the railings of a fire escape on every storey: fall, grab, release, fall, grab, release, fall. Skipping the last two storeys, he dropped into a roll. His smitelight torched the surrounding alley, seeking to rout any unseen nyctals. There were none. He rapidly plucked out the smitelight¡¯s battery. Overtaxed, the old one glowed red-hot. If not for the W.A.S.A.-grade insulation gloves capable of surviving atmospheric reentry, that little battery would have a very different relationship with his fingers. He slipped it into a cooling cartridge on the flank of his backpack and replaced it. The practiced process took one second flat. ¡°Proper disposal is very important. Don¡¯t want to start a fire,¡± Norman whispered to the chat. It was safe to say they weren¡¯t interested in such details at the moment. ___CHAT Norman took off, lighting a path through the back alleys to put as much distance between himself and the monsters as possible. Sure, he was curious as to who would win in the battle of nyctals. Why had the twilight angel stepped in? Maybe it was aware that he had saved it. Maybe it was returning the favour. Maybe it was a territorial beast whose inhuman thought process could turn it against him at a moment¡¯s notice. He didn¡¯t have the leisurely luxury to find out. The commotion would have roused every opportunistic predator within earshot. This was going to be one of those nights. Part 4 - Amy the Pancake Amy was a pancake. At least, that¡¯s how she felt. Probably how she looked too. Snuggled beneath the bedsheet, she¡¯d been seeking the reprieve of sleep for about twenty minutes. Sure, she could probably brute force her brain ¡­ or ¡­ whatever did the thinking these days, into sleeping. She¡¯d done that before, back when she was human without question. A neat trick. Apparently, most people couldn¡¯t do it. T?h?e?n? ?a?g?a?i?n?,? ?m?o?s?t? ?p?e?o?p?l?e? ?w?e?r?e? ?w?e?a?k?.? She thought they probably could, if they tried hard enough. However, brute forcing sleep wasn¡¯t very relaxing. It was more like mentally walloping herself into a concussion than falling asleep. No ¡­ not that extreme. More akin to gently, firmly, holding a pillow over her own face until the sweet release of unconsciousness- okay, that wasn¡¯t much less extreme, come to think of it. She didn¡¯t wake up feeling rested after that. Just ¡­ kinda violated, really. The problem here was that she could relax. She could enjoy the comfort of her bed, even if it never quite felt the same as it had before. She just couldn¡¯t do it the way she was humanly supposed to. The issue was her new body. Well, it was more of an avatar, or a finger puppet on the pinkie of what was actually her body. Holding its shape was like flexing a muscle: an act of will. The first time she¡¯d tried to sleep in this form, the weight of the bedsheet gradually squished her into a neon pink pancake. The fourth time, she relaxed enough to almost lose self-awareness. Her comfort reached the point where she felt as though surrounded by cotton ¡­ more like foam ¡­ and hard, cold, twirly things ¡­ Those were her first hints that something wasn¡¯t quite right. She tried to get up. The mattress got up with her. Amy nearly shredded the bed and blew up half the building before realising she¡¯d seeped into the mattress. It was kind of funny, but creepy. To think such a thing could happen. The seventh time, she achieved full relaxation, but it wasn¡¯t what she expected. Her avatar had dissolved back into an aerosol, dispersing her mind throughout the building and its surroundings. She was conscious, but barely. It was like zoning out. Maybe that was the closest she¡¯d ever get to sleep, but could she really trust her disembodied form to stay not dissipate or drift across the city? Would that kill her? It didn¡¯t feel like it was killing her, but her heart remained set on sleeping the old-fashioned way. Now, Amy was back to being a pancake. Oh, and syrup. The edges of her form were dripping off the sides of the bed, half aerosol, half liquid. It felt kind of nice, strangely enough. Her eyes were closed as she released a sigh, very shallowly thanks to her flattened facsimiles of lungs. Nonetheless, she was passively aware of everything in the room, every shape in the house. She was touching them, after all. Some shapes even tickled. Curtains shifted, open doors inched back and forth as she fidgeted restlessly. The house was a snug fit. A huge chunk of her was outside it as it was. Her aerosol body seemed to want to decompress as she rested, but Amy didn¡¯t feel comfortable just letting it all spill out of the building as it pleased. It made her feel exposed and vulnerable, like sleeping in the middle of a road. Amy startled when a door hit a wall as she tossed and turned a little too hard. Alright, maybe it was time to get up and do something else. Amy was beginning to extract her pancake and syrup body from the bed before stopping. Wait, what did she look like right now? Amy spawned a new avatar over the bed. Air currents converged and sparked. Luminously rosy sinews congealed into a humanoid form garbed in a lenticular cloud dress. She stretched experimentally, testing the joints. It looked enough like her human self. Technically, she could make it look however she wanted, but her default form was like muscle memory. Her avatars never quite came out the same way, though. They were like sketches. From her height and general dimensions to the contours of her hair, little details would vary. Stylising her looks made things easier. She didn¡¯t grow every strand of hair. Just thick, flaming clouds of curly locks that danced in the air like an electric blaze. For some reason, her hair was the brightest part of her body. Maybe it was because most of her consciousness was located up there. It sure felt that way, even after the change. She didn¡¯t usually have feet. Her legs simply tapered into petite points. At first glance, the same could be said about her hands, but she had fingers, sort of. They were usually more like cute little claws that separated from her otherwise uniformed hand points when she wanted them, just like so- oh, WOW. Her right hand had been blessed with two thumbs this time! Why were hands so iffy?Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. She was getting distracted. Amy dissolved and reconstituted the hand, fixing its botched up ¡®programming¡¯, so to speak. Floating down to the bed, she pulled the covers off of pancake Amy. She stared and stared. ¡°¡­¡­ Pfffffft ¡­ heh ¡­ haha ¡­ HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAA!¡± Pancake Amy was easily the most cartoonishly memable thing she¡¯d seen all day. It was like a neon-coloured popsicle person¡¯s misguided attempt at sunbathing had gone horribly wrong. The avatar had dyed itself deep into the bed, evaporating pink mist like dry ice as it dribbled its edges off the mattress. Eyes closed, mouth wide open in a liquified frown, the avatar was a living caricature of exhaustion. ¡°hOw I LoOk?¡±it asked with a weak, goopy smile. She laughed all the harder. It laughed with her. The two avatars¡¯ laughter created a self-sustaining feedback loop that she had to put some effort into reigning in. ¡°You¡¯re beautiful!¡± Amy squeaked between giggles. Its smile grew bigger. ¡°tHeY tRiEd To PuT mE oN tHe CoVeR oF rOgUe ¡­¡± Another bout of laughter. ¡°Wait, hold that pose!¡± she instructed needlessly. Amy reached for the phone. It flew into her hand. She paused. Sure, she was used to the pseudo-telekinesis that came with most of her mass being an airborne swarm. Nonetheless, it was just so easy ¡­ too easy. The A.M.E. was a monster, not a superpower. Taking over its body was miraculous enough. Getting it to work exactly the way she wanted was another matter. It wasn¡¯t designed to fulfil her desires, yet it fit her like a glove. She looked at Pancake Amy, who looked back. Pancake Amy had laughed with her, despite the flattened lungs. Technically, she was just laughing with herself. Both avatars were under her control, but how had she made it laugh without breath? It must have produced soundwaves some other way. If she hadn¡¯t shown it how to do that, what did? Did it just ¡­ know? Amy looked around at the rosy atmosphere that was her free-floating body, or the A.M.E.¡¯s free-floating body, more specifically. She clenched her little claws. A low snarl rose from her throat until it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The house shuddered with her rising wrath. Bolts of miniature lightning rent the air. ¡°What? Am I supposed to thank you for ripping my brain out of its skull?¡± Amy growled. ¡°Are we supposed to be friends? No. I beat you. You took my life and I yanked it back. I took yours, and I hold it without regret. By all means, feel free to apologise, or otherwise prove me wrong. Maybe I misunderstand you. Maybe, once upon a time, we would have had a lot in common, but if that¡¯s true, then I understand you perfectly. If that¡¯s true, presently, I hate you with all my soul! I don¡¯t know if you understand me, but maybe, one day, we can make up and ugly cry together. However, I see blood on your hands, and no tears in your eyes. If you choose to be a true monster ¡­ ????I???? ???w????i????l???l ???s????h????o?????w????? y????o????u???? ???t?????ha????t???? ????w????h???i?????c???h????? ???m????on????s????te???r????s FE???????A????R?????.????? Was something burning? She felt it in the air before she could smell it. It didn¡¯t hurt, but it wasn¡¯t perfectly comfortable either. She felt to ¡­ consume the fire? What on Earth? Why did all roads lead to feeding when it came to this A.M.E.? Amy turned to see flames gnawing away at the carpet, and the curtains ¡­ aaaaaand the bed sheets. She¡¯d failed to notice when some stray lightning bolts managed to ignite them, far less when the sky beyond the window lit up several blocks away. Her miniature lightning storm had been the perfect smokescreen for what transpired outside. With a huff, Amy gave a small, sweeping gesture. The fires snuffed out as waves of her aerosol rippled across the burning surfaces, consuming the energy from their combustion process. That certainly was a new ¡®taste¡¯, metaphorically speaking. Part of her was miffed that these fires just had to start right at the end of her speech. Did the A.M.E. do this on purpose? Perhaps not, but if it was trying to undermine her, she¡¯d back up her words with actions if the time came. She looked at Pancake Amy, who had been patiently laying there while giving her moral support through little grunts and expressions of agreement. Amy shrugged. Enough with the heavy stuff. Time to get that photo of her pancake persona! Part 5 - Lady Oddity ¡°Heh, Norman¡¯s gonna laugh so hard ¡­¡± Amy muttered as she took a few photos of her pancaked avatar. Once finished, Amy blinked as the thought of pancakes brought a realisation. She was hungry? Again??? What on Earth was wrong with this body! Alright, in all fairness, her atmospheric form was absolutely massive, but she didn¡¯t see how a couple pancakes were gonna make a difference! Sure, the vestigial sense of human needs was somewhat independent of what her body actually needed, but Norman just pampered her with a steak dinner delicious enough to start a war! Was she just peckish? Eh, whatever. She wanted pancakes, and she would get them. Unless it became a problem, there was no use complicating things. Amy strode to the fridge. Before even reaching it, she gripped the air, feeling tactile resistance as her atmospheric telekinesis grabbed the fridge door and translated the force to her hand. She pulled. The door opened. Thick, rosy neon aerosol wafted out of the fridge before somewhat receding back into it. The stuff settled around food items especially. Good. The fragment of herself that she¡¯d packed into the fridge was still behaving somewhat like she wanted it to, draining heat energy to keep everything cold. Her biomass had a tendency to slowly forget what it was supposed to do if she wasn¡¯t there to remind it. The fridge wasn¡¯t quite as cold as she¡¯d have liked, though. Of course, the fridge would have done that by itself, if the power company hadn¡¯t stopped sending electricity to that side of the neighbourhood a few days ago. She somewhat understood the logic. Almost everyone there had either abandoned the area or gotten gotten dragged off by nyctals ¡­ which would also make them abandon the area when they survived the ordeal (she liked to be optimistic). She was still there, though. Norman had paid her last electric bill while holding out the hope that she was still alive. Maybe this was a mistake on account of the absolute chaos unfolding across the city. Still, it felt a little ¡­ t?a?r?g?e?t?e?d?.? ?S?o?m?e?o?n?e? ?m?i?g?h?t? ?h?a?t?e? ?y?o?u?.? ¡­ strange for them to make such a mistake, but she couldn¡¯t come up with any reasonable theories as to why it happened. Amy selected the ingredients and floated them out of the fridge, turning them over as her aerosol inspected their scents. They still smelt fresh to the touch. Yes, that was the accurate wording. Amy¡¯s biomass could smell anything within it, or was that technically taste? Oh well. She wondered if it would have mattered whether or not the ingredients were fresh. Did hygiene really matter anymore? Her biomass had been through all sorts of icky conditions. After all, it touched everything around her, wherever she went: streets, gutters, even mucky puddles ¡­ Although she managed to somewhat keep herself off of certain things, it was impossible to avoid them completely. Her biomass had a fast and vicious immune system of sorts. It seemed capable of eating anything remotely organic. Could it ever get food-poisoning? She was inclined to think not, but as a human living in the body of a monster, she had standards to maintain. Amy approved the ingredients with a little nod. ¡°Mm hm.¡± At her affirmation, they laid themselves on the counter: Flour, sugar, condensed milk, oil and, because she was feeling fancy, cinnamon and vanilla. These weren¡¯t any old pancakes. They were a family recipe gloriously dubbed as: ¡®Homemade Pancakes¡¯. No special mix necessary, they were sweeter and chewier than the bouji store-bought stuff. She seen the process many times. Her mother had explained it to her. Surely, she could cook something so simple, right? Amy spawned another avatar to prepare the ingredients in a bowl with some water while she carefully applied a current to the electric stove¡¯s power cord. With her new abilities, she didn¡¯t miss the lack of electricity too much. Her biomass had its own luminosity, which she dialed up or down to control the house¡¯s lighting. That wasn¡¯t quite the same as having actual lights in the house, so she mostly emitted the glow from around the cold, dead lightbulbs bereft of electricity. It was time to liven up the place a little. A third avatar scrolled through her phone¡¯s music selection. She hadn¡¯t had much time to miss her phone with the rollercoaster of life-altering events that transpired over the last few weeks. Too bad the Wi-Fi was down ¡­ oh, it seemed Norman had topped up her mobile data and upgraded the plan to a ludicrous degree. Okay, now he was just spoiling her. Just because she liked it didn¡¯t mean he had to smother her in so many little gifts that mosaiced together to say: ¡°I care, a LOT.¡± If she kept thinking about her dream guy, she¡¯d zone out ¡®till sunrise. Maybe later she¡¯d settle down for a nice web novel, but for now? There was a song she wanted to hear. MUSIC Playlist: Indie Supremacy (and other stuff) The phone emanated a contemplatively melancholy piano melody ¨C a nice tune for looking through window on a rainy night, thinking about life. A violin came in and accentuated its bittersweet beauty, but there was tenacity in the drums that pressed on, taking life one step at a time. The lyrics were ¡­ very personal to her. ¡°Lady oddity, I couldn¡¯t fit you into this little ditty ( ( little ditty ) ). Beyond rarity One of a kind you¡¯ll never find in all eternity.¡± A fourth avatar had spawned, dancing to the song. The other three paused to smirk at her. She smiled back, chuckling into a twirl. They shook their heads and returned to their tasks. The cooking avatar floated the ingredients into the air, mixing them together in shapeshifting blobs. That wasn¡¯t necessary, obviously. She just really wanted to do it. If she had something akin to telekinesis, why not have a little fun with it? When the pancake mix rapidly turned pink, she was quickly reminded of the difference between her power and true telekinesis. The floury goop was trapping bits of her particle swarm. She set the mix back in the bowl and gently tried extricating herself from it. She was succeeding, sort of, but her efforts created little bubbles that changed the mix¡¯s consistency as she suspected it would. Amy decided to leave it be. Her aerosol was highly resistant to heat anyway. The pancake would cook around it, even if it felt weird. She¡¯d just reabsorb the aerosol when she ate. The avatar with the smartphone chuckled at her antics while browsing for a movie to watch. ¡°I know you¡¯re just a little lonely as I stand right next to you, lightyears away merely ¡­¡± Amy paused the song as all her avatars turned to the window as they caught wind of a commotion outside. It sounded like a nyctal battle. Did someone need help? A new avatar manifested above the house. This one was different. Taller than the norm, its limbs were just a little too long, bearing distinct, lengthier claws better suited for reaching, snatching and slashing. Its arms split into four. Raptorial talons raised slightly, it held the posture of a predator prepped to pursue and pounce. The avatar seemed to drink up most of the light that reached it, standing out against the dark mostly due to the rosy aura around its silhouette and lightning writhing through its hair. Its aura fluxed and spasmed erratically as if its very existence was an affront to reality that the laws of nature desperately fought and failed to purge. Anyone unlucky enough to see it floating above her house might have quailed. This avatar was a beautiful nightmare, emanating elegance and menace in equal parts: mesmerising to the eyes, paralysing to the body. It was not designed to make friends. It was made to terrify and destroy monsters. The avatar rose skyward, stretching the biomass atmosphere in which it dwelt as far as she comfortably could. She spotted a whistling wing getting absolutely owned by ¡­ a tentacled twilight angel? It seemed more death angel than anything else. She zoomed her perception even further and took in the details. Its serrated mantis arms got her thinking. She glanced at her own limbs and added similarly serrated teeth to the forearms. With more of her arms serving as a weapon, this could come in handy for chopping attacks in battle. She supposed the closest thing that a real martial artist would do was ¡­ some kind of knife hand technique, maybe? She really should ask Norman to teach her some actual martial arts. So far, hitting stuff really hard and really fast with no real technique was enough for her, but it couldn¡¯t hurt to actually know what she was doing. ¡°It¡¯s just a big ol¡¯ nyctal cat fight,¡± dismissed the avatar with the phone. ¡°Maybe I should check on Norman anyway?¡± suggested the one powering the electric stove. The ingredient-handling avatar sighed. ¡°How did that work out last time?¡± Unpleasant events flashed through her mind. She¡¯d failed to find Norman on earlier occasions when she tried. Cue the panic. It turned out he was fine, just much stealthier than she thought he could be. Then there was that one time. Amy rushed out there to find Norman taking selfies with a nyctal derivative of a galliwasp, or ¡®guillowasp¡¯, as people called them, thanks to its three, bladed tails that did their job as well as any guillotine. Norman had somehow managed to hogtie it. He almost sounded like Eve Erwin, going on about how ¡®gorgeous¡¯ it was. That was cute, but it got her wondering about his standards of ¡®gorgeousness¡¯. What did he mean when he used that word on her? Was she that kind of gorgeous? Sure, the guillowasp was ¡­ ¡®gorgeous¡¯, as much as a snaky, lizardy thing could be, but it was the kind of creature she¡¯d prefer to observe from a distance and never, ever touch. Yes, Amy was technically a monster too, but she didn¡¯t really look like one most of the time, right? Anticipating her thoughts, Norman dispelled her concerns. She didn¡¯t remember what he¡¯d said precisely. Only that it made her heart feel like someone poured melted chocolate down her vena cava until she could only squee uncontrollably. She¡¯d tried to hug him. Her hair tendrils got to him before her arms. She hadn¡¯t really asked them to do that. She hadn¡¯t really asked them to deaden his muscles either. When Norman collapsed, Amy wasn¡¯t sure what to do.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The i???d???i???o???t??? poor guy who was apparently watching from a window understandably thought he¡¯d witnessed a murder. His reaction? Shouting a colourful variety of hurtful accusations. Norman¡¯s attempt at clarifying the situation came out slurred. Interpreting it as distress, the man whipped out a flashlight and shone it into Amy¡¯s face. Luckily, it had nothing on Norman¡¯s smitelight. That didn¡¯t mean it was pleasant. She w?o?n?d?e?r?e?d? ?h?o?w? ?h?e?¡¯?d? ?r?e?a?c?t? ?t?o? ?a? ?l?i?g?h?t?n?i?n?g? ?b?o?l?t? ?t?o? ?t?h?e? ?f?a?c?e? darted up to the man. Her hair tendrils pounced again. This time, it was expected. She grabbed them mid-lunge, smoothed them back onto her head, gently snatched away the flashlight, turned it off and gave it back to him before he could do anything (she was very fast). Amy tried to explain: ¡°Please don¡¯t do that. This isn¡¯t what it looks-¡± He punched her in the face, screaming bloody murder over her voice. She blinked. It didn¡¯t hurt, but it made her very, very angry. H?o?w? ?w?o?u?l?d? ?h?e? ?f?e?e?l? ?i?f? ?s?h?e? ?c?o?n?f?i?s?c?a?t?e?d? ?h?i?s? ?a?r?m? ?a?n?d? ?p?u?n?c?h?e?d? ?h?i?m? ?w?i?t?h? ?i?t??? He was very brave. It was almost admirable. She had to admit that. Bolstered by his brazen act of defiance, several neighbours found the courage to open their windows and bombard her with flashlights, threats, and insults. ¡°Leave him alone!¡± ¡°MONSTER!¡± ¡°You¡¯re just like the others!¡± Apparently, this was one of the more populated areas. W?h?e?r?e? ?w?e?r?e? ?t?h?o?s?e? ?c?o?w?a?r?d?s? ?w?h?e?n? ?N?o?r?m?a?n? ?a?c?t?u?a?l?l?y? ?n?e?e?d?e?d? ?t?h?e?m??? She could have raised her voice above them all, but what difference would it make? Why would they believe her? As gossip about the misunderstanding spread faster than light, no one would ever trust her again. S?h?e? ?c?o?u?l?d? ?a?l?s?o? ?w?i?p?e? ?t?h?e? ?c?i?t?y? ?b?l?o?c?k? ?o?f?f? ?t?h?e? ?m?a?p?,? ?s?i?l?e?n?c?i?n?g? ?t?h?e?m? ?a?l?l?.? What was she going to do? Maybe she should despawn her avatar, make another one and watch from a distance until Norman recovered enough to explain, but someone must have recorded this on their phone! There was always someone! Maybe they hadn¡¯t started yet? She could black out the block a?n?d? ?e?a?t? ?t?h?e?i?r? ?m?e?m?o?r?i?e?s? ?o?f? ?t?h?e? ?e?v?e?n?t?, maybe, but then their houses would be vulnerable to nyctals. Besides, that was just plain wrong. W?h?o? ?c?a?r?e?d??? That wasn¡¯t an option. Instead, she- I?f? ?h?e?r? ?r?e?p?u?t?a?t?i?o?n? ?w?a?s? ?r?u?i?n?e?d? ?a?n?y?w?a?y?,? ?w?h?y? ?n?o?t?-??? -could ¡­ what was she thinking again? Pu?p?p?e?tee?r? ?N?o?r?m?a?n?''s ?lim?p? ?b?o?d?y w?i?t?h? ?p?s?e?u?d?o? telek?in?esi?s? ?a?n?d? ?m?a?k?e? ?hi?m? ?say? ?w?h?a?t sh?e? ?n?eed?e?d? ?h?im? to?-? THAT WAS NOT AN OPTION! Between the shouting, flashlights and self-censored thoughts heaping up, Amy¡¯s mind was a dumpster fire. No one would have guessed, except Norman. With slow, deep breaths, she floated there. A battle blazed beneath her placid impassivity. The shadowy forms of avatars clawed and thrashed at the edge of existence as her darkest desires threatened to tear their way to reality. She wasn¡¯t going to let that happen, but what could she do? ¡°STOP!¡± shouted Norman. Against all odds, he pushed himself to his feet and explained that it was an accident, that she was a good person (?w?h?y? ?d?i?d? ?h?e? ?k?e?e?p? ?c?a?l?l?i?n?g? ?h?e?r? ?t?h?a?t???)?, he¡¯d be fine, and thanked them for their concern. Nonetheless, they owed her an apology, he insisted. Some complied with murmurs. Others shied back into their windows, while there were those who simply stared in ambivalent silence. He shot them glares before managing to hobble out of there under their scrutinising eyes. Maybe she could have carried him, but that would have made him look even more pitiful. Besides, contact gone horribly wrong was what led to this situation in the first place. That night, Amy accompanied him for the rest of his walk, ensuring that nothing took advantage of his state. Nothing tried, but she cringed through every second of it. After that stunt, she just wasn¡¯t sure what to say. He assured her that there was nothing to say. After that, Amy thought it best to give him some space when it came to getting home. He had it under control, right? It wasn¡¯t like anything bad ever happened to him. He had an excellent flashlight, for starters. He insisted he was fine. She had to respect that, but what if respecting him led to his demise? All it took was one bad night. The avatar over the house sighed, turned and dematerialised just as the smitelight¡¯s flashes could be seen navigating the alleyways. ¡°He¡¯d call if he needed help, right?¡± asked the phone-holding avatar. The cooking avatar glanced back at her. ¡°Maybe? I dunno. Norman¡¯s always been the type to suffer in silence, if he thinks he can get away with it. Wait, what¡¯s that smell?¡± ¡°WHAT DO YOU MEAN ¡®WHAT¡¯S THAT SMELL?!?¡¯¡± shrieked Phone Amy. ¡°THE ELECTRIC STOVE IS ON FIRE! IT¡¯S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!¡± ¡°I-I must have messed up the current!¡± exclaimed Electrician Amy as she sucked up the flames with a wave of her claws. ¡°You. Had. ONE. Job,¡± chastened the cook, dangerously testing the weight of a ladle as though gauging its worth as a blunt weapon. ¡°WE got distracted! How am I supposed to think straight when Norman¡¯s on the mind? We¡¯re all sharing a single braincell here!¡±argued Electrician. ¡°WE DON¡¯T HAVE A BRAIN!¡± exploded Chef Amy, finally hurling the ladle at her counterpart. Electrician Amy noped right out of there, despawning. Without a noggin to hit, the ladle smashed through a wall instead ¡­ leaving a hole suspiciously similar to the ones beside it. ¡°Yup. No brain says it all,¡± quipped Dancing Amy. ¡°That¡¯s just peachy. Now we gotta fix the wall, all because I won¡¯t just let me cave my skull in with a ladle!¡± ranted Chef Amy. ¡°This is fun and all, but I¡¯m hungry,¡± Phone Amy griped. Chef Amy spun to glare at her. ¡°No, you¡¯re not. You had dinner with Norman. You just wanna eat! There¡¯s a difference!¡± ¡°Either way, you have failed me one too many times,¡± said Phone Amy, pointing at the disgraced cook. ¡°Chef Amy, yer dun! You were an oxymoron as it was.¡± ¡°Wait, don¡¯t be like that!¡±pleaded Chef Amy. ¡°We¡¯re like sisters! More than sisters! You¡¯re me, but without the ¡®oxy¡¯!¡± Phone Amy¡¯s gaped for but a split second before closing her mouth, eyelids fluttering into a deadpan stare. Chef Amy simpered, hands clasped behind her back as she innocently pivoted her torso left and right like a mischievous schoolgirl. She knew she¡¯d done it good. ¡°That was a good one,¡± confessed Phone Amy. ¡°I know,¡± preened Chef Amy. ¡°Ooh! I got one! Wanna hear it?¡± Phone Amy asked a little too excitedly. ¡°Not really,¡± Chef Amy replied, eying her cautiously. Phone Amy ignored her. ¡°It¡¯s called: ¡®Begone, Woman¡¯!¡± As Phone Amy raised her fingers to snap them, Chef Amy knew her time was short. She had to act fast. ¡°GOMFF!¡± the sound of Chef Amy stuffing as much sweet pancake mix into her mouth as inhumanly possible. In other words, pretty much all of it. When she got finger-snapped out of existence, the pancake mix poured from her now-nonexistent cheeks. It was pinker than ever. Catching it with her pseudo telekinesis before it hit the ground added even more blush to the dough. Phone Amy sighed at the sight. ¡°Heh, at this stage there¡¯s more me in that pancake mix than actual pancake mix,¡± chuckled Dancing Amy. Phone Amy groaned, easing the mix back into the bowl as she stroked the stress from her hair (apparently it had its own nerves or something). ¡°Speaking of ¡®me¡¯, the song¡¯s over, Dancing Amy. Depart to the void from whence thou ca- uhh, what are you doing?¡± ¡°The music stopped and I was idle, so I just started T-posing,¡± explained D?a?n?c?i?n?g? ?A?m?y? T-Pose Amy, floating three feet off the ground in a crucifix position. ¡°That¡¯s ¡­ actually kinda creepy,¡± Phone Amy admitted. The lights flickered as T-Pose Amy glitched towards her. ¡°GYAAH!?!¡± recoiled Phone Amy, desperately snapping her fingers until T-Pose Amy disappeared. Clutching her chest, she took a moment to collect herself. ¡°Hoooookay. Pancake Amy, it¡¯s your turn ¡­ but you still look hilarious oozing off the bed, so I¡¯m not finished with you yet.¡± Pancake Amy guffawed goofily. ¡°It¡¯s clear that we¡¯re ¡­ I¡¯m not qualified to D.I.Y. my electrical needs,¡± Phone Amy mused, dialing the power company. ¡°I gotta charge this thing sometime, don¡¯t wanna roast it like I did with the stove, and now I¡¯m talking to myself which is ¡­ honestly no different from what I¡¯ve been doing all along.¡± She waited, listening to the phone ring before inevitably being told to hold for the next eternity by an answering machine. ¡°i ThOuGhT yOu WeRe TaLkInG tO mE,¡± offered Pancake Amy. ¡°That¡¯s right! I¡¯m talking to you! I¡¯m not going crazy in the slightest,¡± Amy boasted. ¡°This is like a cross between an imaginary conversation and a lucid dream. You may control the dream, but the figments inside it almost seem to do their own thing. Hmm ¡­ maybe it¡¯s more like writing a book. You look down on this world of characters who all behave differently at the same time, but you can control them all because you¡¯re doing it from the outside.¡± Pancake Amy side-squinted at her. ¡°WhY yOo ExPlAiNiNg YoOsElF?¡± ¡°The government needs to understand that I¡¯m a sane, high-functioning individual,¡± Amy explained a-matter-of-factly, as if that clarified anything whatsoever. Pancake Amy gave her a look reserved for poor souls in the process of a mental breakdown. ¡°¡­ wUt?¡± ¡°Think about it,¡± Phone Amy began. ¡°I¡¯m possibly the most powerful girl in the city, and people are starting to see me as some kind of hero, but I¡¯m still a monster. The government would have to figure out if I can be trusted, if I¡¯m mentally capable of being a good little sheeple. I¡¯d be more surprised if they weren¡¯t listening in on my personal life.¡± Pancake Amy was silent for a time. ¡°¡­ wE hAvE NoRmAn,¡± the pancake finally stated. Phone Amy blinked at her. ¡°Yes. Your point being?¡± ¡°ArE wE rEaLlY sO lOnElY tHaT wE hAfTa TaLk To OuRsElF?¡± Pancake Amy pressed. Phone Amy frowned, sinking into sombre contemplation. ¡°Norman is one of the best things that ever happened to me. I was weird long before the A.M.E. I thought it made me better, like Humanity 2.0, but Norman just came and tore it all down. He saw straight through me, all the shadows, and the shadows, and the ¡­ deeper shadows, but for some reason ¡­ he ¡­ still ¡­ loves ¡­ me ¡­ He¡¯s always there, but he¡¯ll never be here, ¡®cause ¡®here¡¯ is where I am. No one can ever be ¡®here¡¯. All they can do is stand next to me.¡± Pancake Amy turned that over in her head for a moment. ¡°¡­ aGaIn, wUt?¡± Amy chortled into a sigh. ¡°I guess what I¡¯m trying to say is understanding me isn¡¯t the same as being me. At the end of the day, I¡¯m the only one.¡± ¡°WhIcH aPpLiEs To EvErYoNe, ThO,¡± Pancake Amy reminded. ¡°Yeah, I suppose so,¡± Phone Amy agreed. She flinched at the sound of a click. Someone was actually answering the phone? In less than ten hours after she was put on hold? Miracles really did happen! ¡°Hello, Bright and Power. How may I help you?¡± came a masculine voice. ¡°Oh, hi, goodnight!¡± she fumbled. ¡°I¡¯m calling about restoring power to my home. I live in one of the more abandoned areas, but this month¡¯s bill was paid, so I was wondering-¡± ¡°¡­ You¡¯re that A.M.E., aren¡¯t you?¡± he interrupted tersely. Amy¡¯s lightning storm hair ceased its dance, before continuing at a more tentative pace. She had a pretty good idea of how this would go. Part 6 - You Need Me ¡°¡­ You¡¯re that A.M.E., aren¡¯t you?¡± asked the customer service representative on the phone. Amy¡¯s lightning storm hair ceased its dance, before continuing at a more tentative pace. She had a pretty good idea of how this would go. ¡°Y-yes,¡± Amy confirmed. His response came flat and sardonic: ¡°¡­ We¡¯re in the middle of an apocalypse, and you¡¯re worried about electricity?¡± ~?A?m? ?I? ?s?u?p?p?o?s?e?d? ?t?o? ?p?r?e?t?e?n?d? ?t?h?a?t? ?q?u?e?s?t?i?o?n? ?m?a?k?e?s? ?a?n?y? ?s?e?n?s?e??? ? ?I?t?¡¯?s? ?o?b?v?i?o?u?s? ?y?o?u? ?h?a?v?e?n?¡¯?t? ?c?u?t? ?o?f?f? ?E?V?E?R?Y?O?N?E?¡¯?S? ?p?o?w?e?r?,? ?w?h?i?c?h? ?m?e?a?n?s? ?y?o?u?¡¯?r?e? ?s?i?n?g?l?i?n?g? ?m?e? ?o?u?t?.? ? ?C?o?n?g?r?a?t?u?l?a?t?i?o?n?s?.? ? ?Y?o?u?¡¯?r?e? ?o?n? ?m?y? ?r?a?d?a?r? ?n?o?w?.? ? ?I?¡¯?l?l? ?b?e? ?s?e?e?i?n?g? ?y?o?u? ?s?h?o?r?t?l?y?.?~ She shook away the thought. ¡°I ¡­ yes,¡± Amy replied. ¡°It¡¯s a basic requirement, and it seems most people are still getting power, so ¡­¡± ¡°Actually, several sectors have gone dark due to infrastructure damage caused by nyctals. Did you ever pause to consider that?¡± he asked. ¡°Yes, but I checked your website,¡± Amy gently countered. ¡°It said this area has no power because no one lives here anymore.¡± ¡°Booting up a sector for only one house takes more resources than not,¡± he explained. ¡°We¡¯re scrambling to bring emergency services back online as it is: hospitals, schools, police stations ¡­ it¡¯s spreading us thin. Please try to understand our situation.¡± Her hair drooped with empathy. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. Maybe we could-¡± ¡°Thank you for understanding. Have a good night,¡± he dismissed. ¡°Wait!¡± Amy exclaimed. ¡°Maybe I can help! If your people need an escort or someone to guard infrastructure, call me up! I can clear out nyctals from high-risk areas. Just point me in the right direction and I¡¯ll head out there right now. Plus, I feed on electricity, among other things, so I bet I can give you a couple houses¡¯ worth of business.¡± ¡°All this just to get your power back on?¡± Somehow, she practically felt him shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯re just overflowing with selflessness, aren¡¯t you? Nyctals are vulnerable to light.¡± She raised an eyebrow. ¡°¡­ And?¡± He gave an exasperated sigh. ¡°¡®And,¡¯ what would you do with the lights on if it¡¯s only going to hurt you?¡± ¡°Oh, right. I¡¯m not as vulnerable as most nyctals,¡± she explained, with an inward afterthought: ~Is this an interrogation?~ ¡°That¡¯s convenient.¡± He sounded unconvinced. ¡°I think so too,¡± she half-smirked. ¡°In any case, light isn¡¯t the only thing I need it for.¡± ¡°Hm, the news reports said you can generate your own electricity,¡± he noted. ¡°That¡¯s true, but it¡¯s hard to get the current right. I just fried my stove trying to power it up, and I don¡¯t want to destroy anything else,¡± she explained, glancing up at her hair as it suspiciously extended tentacles angled at the phone. ¡°Ah. Well, as a hard-working young woman, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll master that skill in no time,¡± he assured. A hair tentacle shot forward. It actually made a tiny sonic boom. Even so, she snatched it before it could skewer the phone. ¡°Ha! Gotcha!¡± Amy exclaimed. ¡°Excuse me?¡± he asked. ¡°Nothing, sorry,¡± she apologised. Managing her semi-autonomous monster body was like babysitting an eldritch tiger, but Amy was fairly good at it. After all, this wasn¡¯t her first tiger. One had been with her since the beginning. In her mind¡¯s eye, it resembled a misshapen kitten whose debilitating deformity somehow made it cuter. But it wasn¡¯t a kitten. Mental chains compressed its features, forcibly molding it into a critter passable for domestic life. Every now and then, the real kittens poked and prodded it. There was no warning of its true nature, because the muzzle was so tight that the closest it came to roaring was a choked whine. Removing the muzzle for a roar would also free the teeth, the jaws. After that? They¡¯d learn, but dead kittens had no use for lessons. However, this time around, Amy loosened the muzzle, just a little. Then she leant against the couch, suddenly more relaxed. Her body language changed, from the fidgeting mannerisms of prey to movements smoother and more confident. It wasn¡¯t full-fledged ¡®predator¡¯. More like a rabbit that had picked up the ability to stalk. Somehow, that made it all the more unnerving. Her rosy neon had blueshifted slightly towards purple, while her voice dropped closer to its natural tone. ¡°Look,¡± she purred, slow and low. ¡°I want the power back on. The bill has been dealt with. Now, do your job ¡­ please.¡± It wasn¡¯t what she said so much as the way she said it, like the verbal equivalent of glowing eyes peering from the dark. He cleared his throat, but his voice cracked nonetheless. ¡°Our records indicate that you were not the individual who paid your last bill. Considering-¡± ¡°Why, may I ask, is that your business?¡± she interrupted. ¡°We predict that upcoming payments will be unreliable, based on your nyctal lifestyle.¡± ¡°Who is this ¡®we¡¯?¡± she asked lightly. ¡°Is it, by any chance, you?¡± The pupils of those eyes in the dark were narrowing upon him. ¡°I¡¯m ¡­ I¡¯m sorry, but Bright and Power caters to humans,¡± he asserted, audibly puffing up his resolve. ¡°There¡¯s no guarantee that you can control yourself forever. Supplying a nyctal with the energy to grow stronger could prove a liability. Every little deed counts when it comes to saving lives.¡± ¡°You are very brave,¡± she cooed. ¡°Y-You¡¯re threatening me!¡± he accused. ¡°Of course not!¡± Amy exclaimed, feigning hurt. ¡°Bright and Power is lucky to have you, staunchly defending company interests. It¡¯s not like you¡¯re passing up the opportunity to work with a nyctal who will save your lives and make you a whole lot of money. In times like this, that kind of thing could make or break a company. Who knows what your higher ups would do to the person who let a deal like that slip through their fingers, hmm?¡± No response. Her hair tentacles gingerly tasted the phone, messing with the signal so that her voice dipped and peaked in a manner that sounded slightly, unmistakably, wrong. ¡°You still there, s????we??????e?????the?????art????????????¡± she asked. ¡°Threaten me again and I¡¯ll blacklist this number,¡± he warned. She shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll just come up t???????he??????re??????? and have a chat with you g????uy???s?????? in person.¡± Amy¡¯s hair tentacles sampled the air, laden with the radio waves of a modern world. She was growing accustomed to his voice, not just the sounds, but the signals that carried them to her phone. Soon, she¡¯d be able to recognise him whenever he made a call like this, t?o? ?a?n?y?o?n?e?.? ? ?I?t? ?w?o?u?l?d? ?b?e? ?e?a?s?y? ?t?o? ?f?o?l?l?o?w? ?t?h?o?s?e? ?s?i?g?n?a?l?s?,? ?l?i?k?e? ?a? ?s?h?a?r?k? ?s?m?e?l?l?i?n?g? ?b?l?o?o?d? ?o?n? ?t?h?e? ?w?a?t?e?r?.? ? ?S?h?e? ?c?o?u?l?d? ?j?u?s?t? ?s?h?o?w? ?u?p? ?a?n?y? ?t?i?m?e?,? ?b?u?t? ?t?h?a?t? ?w?a?s? ?t?h?e? ?t?i?p? ?o?f? ?t?h?e? ?i?c?e?b?e?r?g?.? ? ?A?m?y? ?w?a?s? ?l?e?a?r?n?i?n?g? ?h?o?w? ?t?o? ?g?e?n?e?r?a?t?e? ?t?h?e? ?r?i?g?h?t? ?r?a?d?i?o? ?w?a?v?e?s? ?o?n? ?h?e?r? ?o?w?n?.? Soon, she might not need a phone, or even an internet provider. That would be nice. If she really focused, maybe she could pull it off right there and then:? ?l?i?s?t?e?n? ?i?n? ?o?n? ?a?l?l? ?h?i?s? ?c?a?l?l?s?,? ?l?e?a?r?n? ?w?h?o? ?h?e? ?w?a?s? ?a?n?d? ?w?h?o? ?h?e? ?l?o?v?e?d?,? ?t?h?e?n? ?m?a?k?e? ?a? ?f?e?w? ?c?a?l?l?s? ?o?f? ?h?e?r? ?o?w?n?,? ?w?i?t?h? ?h?i?s? ?v?o?i?c?e? ?a?n?d? ?d?i?g?i?t?a?l? ?I?D?.? ? ?S?h?e? ?c?o?u?l?d? ?s?a?y? ?t?h?i?n?g?s? ?t?h?a?t? ?c?o?u?l?d? ?n?e?v?e?r? ?b?e? ?t?a?k?e?n? ?b?a?c?k?.? ? ?H?i?s? ?c?a?r?e?e?r? ?w?o?u?l?d? ?b?e? ?o?v?e?r?.? ? ?H?i?s? ?r?e?l?a?t?i?o?n?s?h?i?p?s? ?w?o?u?l?d? ?l?a?y? ?i?n? ?r?u?i?n?s?.? ? ?H?e?¡¯?d? ?k?n?o?w? ?i?t? ?w?a?s? ?h?e?r?,? ?b?u?t? ?h?e?¡¯?d? ?h?a?v?e? ?n?o? ?p?r?o?o?f?.? ? ?T?h?e?n?,? ?o?n?e?,? ?m?i?s?e?r?a?b?l?e? ?n?i?g?h?t? ?w?h?e?n? ?h?e? ?w?a?s? ?a?l?l? ?a?l?o?n?e?,? ?s?h?e?¡¯?d? ?m?a?n?i?f?e?s?t? ?i?n? ?f?r?o?n?t? ?o?f? ?h?i?m? ?a?n?d? ?g?r?i?n?.?Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Amy massaged her temple. That was a long one. She wasn¡¯t exactly sure what had passed through her head, but if she had to dump so much of the memory? It was bad. Chances are he really didn¡¯t deserve it, like pulling out a military-grade gutterperk on the sorry soul who fired a spitball. Most thoughts could be stopped before properly forming, but maybe some slipped through because she let them. Maybe a part of her decided to savour them before deletion. That aside, why let him occupy so much of her headspace, for any reason? He was just a stranger who didn¡¯t like her. There would be bigger, more aggravating challenges. How would she handle them? Back when she was indisputably human, Amy had developed her own, dysfunctional little system for dealing with these things, but now? The weight of the city was on her shoulders. She couldn¡¯t even refresh with a quick nap. Staving off thoughts wasted time and energy. Only a fraction of her attention could focus on the conversation. Present day Amy was like a baby, learning how to think all over again. Between toddling into the new while biting back the old, she didn¡¯t have much room to figure out what to do like a well-adjusted human being. She needed to create some distance between herself and this guy. ¡°May I speak to someone else?¡± Amy ventured. ¡°No,¡± he stated simply. ~Why, that little! ¡­ Okay, breathe in, breathe out,~ Amy thought. She¡¯d tried to be nice. She¡¯d even intimidated him. Why was he pushing so hard? If he really thought she was just a monster, why risk his job and general wellbeing for this? Prejudice wasn¡¯t generally this single-focused. It almost felt like ¡­ Oh. Realisation flashed behind Amy¡¯s eyes. Maybe she¡¯d been thinking too much about herself, rather than unravelling his side of the equation. ¡°I did something, didn¡¯t I?¡± Amy asked. He didn¡¯t answer. She continued. ¡°This isn¡¯t prejudice, it¡¯s personal. I did something to you or someone you love, didn¡¯t I?¡± Still no answer. ¡°Tell me, please,¡± Amy pressed, ¡°otherwise this is all for nothing. I won¡¯t come away feeling guilty. You¡¯ll have no justice. I¡¯ll just come away thinking you were a jerk.¡± ¡°Why?¡± he finally asked. She raised an eyebrow. ¡°¡­ Why what?¡± ¡°Why are you the only one who gets to come back?¡± he elaborated. ¡°Why did my son leave his house, thinking he heard his daughter crying, only to find the monster that took her and her voice? Why were they both buried with steaming gaps on their shoulders while you get to whine about electricity? God knows how many people people lose their lives to that ¡­ THING ¡­ and then it stops at you. Why? Are you special? Do you deserve to live more than they did?¡± His questions hung on the silence that followed. ¡°¡­ No,¡± she quietly replied. ~?Y?o?u?¡¯?r?e? ?l?y?i?n?g?,? ?A?m?y?.?~? ¡°Do you really believe that?¡± he pressed. She thought for a moment. ¡°I believe I survived the A.M.E. because there¡¯s something wrong with me. I¡¯m not better. I¡¯m defective. Your son passed trying to help someone he loved. I¡¯m sure he was more wonderful than I can ever be.¡± He said nothing. She waited. After several seconds of silence, Amy allowed her lower body to dissolve a bit, sinking to the floor before reforming it so that she sat cross-legged. ¡°Please, tell me more about him,¡± Amy requested. A brief pause. Then she heard the click of a phone meeting its cradle. The line went dead. Amy¡¯s hair lowered. It moved no more. With a heavy sigh, she released the phone, her atmospheric mass easing it to the ground like a pebble sinking through water. The room grew dark and cold as Amy stared up at the ceiling. From shadowed corners, pitch black forms like avatars emerged, creeping and crawling towards her. She didn¡¯t react, even when they gradually began to prod, pinch, pull, scratch and bite. Soon, only her face was free as they engulfed her like feasting vultures. Soon, even it would vanish beneath them. She closed her eyes. Something yanked her up from their midst. They scattered. Amy spun to identify the responsible party. ¡°M-MOM!?¡± Amy yelped. Once she¡¯d gotten past the knee-jerk response, it was evident that this wasn¡¯t her mother, but a biomass construct made in her likeness. It wasn¡¯t a true avatar. It lacked the luminous hair indicating Amy¡¯s concentrated consciousness. That didn¡¯t change the fact that it was lifting her by the wrist with a single arm, frowned at her. ¡°Really?¡± asked Pseudo Mom. ¡°You let those things tear at you, and I¡¯m the one you react to? Amy, you¡¯re supposed to be strong-willed!¡± ¡°There¡¯a s difference between having strong will and actually using i-!¡± Amy cut the argument and switched gears. ¡°Mooooooom! You can¡¯t just show up rent-free in my head like thiiiiis!¡± ¡°Hmph. I suppose you¡¯d rather I left you to stew in your own ¡­¡± Pseudo Mom trailed off upon spotting the electric stove, still smoking. Then there were the burn marks in the curtains, carpet and bed sheets, not to mention Pancake Amy. ¡°hEwO, mUmMy!¡± piped up the pancake. ¡°What in the-?¡± Pseudo Mom began. ¡°Did you almost burn down the house in several different-? What even is that thing??¡± Pancake Amy chortled. ¡°Mooooooooooooom!¡± whined Amy, squirming for freedom as she dangled in the figment¡¯s iron grip. ¡°Alright. You¡¯re right,¡± agreed Pseudo Mom, setting down Amy like a wolf releasing its pup. ¡°This is your house. I have to respect that. Let¡¯s start over.¡± Pseudo Mom walked out into the hall and closed the door behind her. In actuality, Amy¡¯s ¡®house¡¯ was an apartment building, but after being mostly deserted, she had the whole thing to herself. The owners were even kind enough to give her the deed. Maybe the A.M.E. never would have caught her if she¡¯d just moved out like everyone else. The allure of not having to pay rent had addled her little mind. Pseudo Mom knocked on the door. ¡°May I come in?¡± Amy held her breath, staring at the entrance but making no moves towards it. More knocking, more forceful. Amy gulped, reached out with her aerotelekinesis and twisted the lock. She winced as it made the slightest *klik*. There was a pause. Pseudo Mom tested the door, confirming that it was locked. Another pause. Amy was shivering. Footsteps audibly departed from the door. Amy exhaled her relief. The footsteps returned, fast and hard. Amy screamed as the door was blasted off its hinges. It flew across the room and wedged into the wall. In its stead stood a very miffed Pseudo Mom, lowering her upraised foot. Her tone was low and dangerous. ¡°Amy ¡­? Were you planning to ignore me and just hope I go away?¡± Amy glanced at the window. Forget the rentless building! If she flew really fast, maybe she could get away. Oh, who was she kidding? This thing was part of her biomass! When her eyes returned to Pseudo Mom, it was inches away, looming above her with folded arms. Apparently, this thing could offscreen teleport. Amy gave a placatory smile as she shakily raised her claws and snapped them like crazy. Pseudo Mom stared, unamused. ¡°And now you¡¯re trying to finger-snap me out of existence. My own daughter ¡­¡± Amy almost looked like she would cry. ¡°Oh, come onnnn! You¡¯re not even my real mom! You¡¯re just a Flanderised caricature of her! Why isn¡¯t this workinnnng?¡± The finger snapping intensified. Pseudo Mom rolled her eyes and put a hand around Amy¡¯s vigorously snapping claws. Gentle as it was, the message was clear. Amy didn¡¯t dare another snap. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Amy squeaked. ¡°No you¡¯re not, but you¡¯re right,¡± Pseudo Mom conceded. ¡°I¡¯m not your mom. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. That¡¯s also why your attempts to get rid of me aren¡¯t working.¡± Amy¡¯s face scrunched. ¡°¡­ Okay, sooo ¡­ what? You¡¯re here ¡®cause I apparently enjoy getting chewed out by figments of my imagination?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here because you need me,¡± Pseudo Mom stated. ¡°If you really wanted me gone, I would be. You¡¯re not gonna talk to your mom about your issues, but you really want to, hence my existence. You can and will tell me anything you want, but it stays in this room. What teenager would pass that up, right?¡± Amy frowned. ¡°I¡¯m not a teenager.¡± ¡°Since, like, five seconds ago,¡± Pseudo Mom countered. ¡°Well, might as well get comfy, ¡®cause I¡¯m not going anywhere until you¡¯re good and ready.¡± Amy stared down the figment for a moment before resigning with a long groan that did nothing for her image of being a little more than a teenager. ¡°Uggghh! Fine, but this is gonna get messy. I¡¯ll grab the maple pecan ice cream,¡± Amy declared as she floated for the fridge, literally dragging her feet. Part 7 - Heat Eater Norman slid down a galvanised roof, rolling onto the awaiting floor with cat-like grace. Both actions were not entirely silent. _CHAT Norman sighed, then whispered: ¡°You know, Arn74, from the moment you showed up in the chat, I thought you were a purebred troll. Then I got to know you a little better.¡± _CHAT ¡°And what?¡± smirked Norman. _CHAT ¡°In any case, you raise a valid point,¡± Norman chuckled. ¡°I said: ¡®what if you could stomp around as much as you want without making a sound?¡¯ I wasn¡¯t stomping. I was sliding, deliberately. Prowlers are a bit like Heelys. At the right angle, you can slide with them. It¡¯s worth noting that the prowlers themselves didn¡¯t make a sound so much as my body did, sliding against the metal. I also said ¡®as you can see, so long as you have a stable surface, prowlers do not slip¡¯. If, say, you¡¯re running on gravel like I am right now, I can¡¯t guarantee there¡¯ll be no slippage. Even so, notice anything strange?¡± Norman looked down, highlighting the gravel on which he ran soundlessly. _CHAT _CHAT Norman grinned. ¡°Excellent observation. Like I said, you can stomp around as much as you want. Not a peep.¡± ¡°Yeah ¡­ pretty much what it is,¡± Norman agreed. ¡°At least, until I figure it out.¡± _CHAT ¡°Nope,¡± Norman admitted. ¡°I didn¡¯t invent the material. I just-¡± Norman¡¯s sprint smoothed to a stop as he went quiet. His mannerisms had changed, from cautiously upbeat to steady, bladed focus somehow intense in its silence. He swept the area with his eyes and the smitelight. It was a plaza, from the looks of it. His gaze briefly flicked to a massive form in the corner. _CHAT Norman briefly zoomed in on the lug, before his focus turned to examining the floor. He didn¡¯t dare speak.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. _CHAT Norman turned up the infrared setting on his nightsight. His subtle observations became clear. The viewers glimpsed the edge of the lug¡¯s carcass, but he remained fixated on the ground. _CHAT Norman traced the trail to an alley way, where a subtle blue glow receded in infrared. He looked back at the trail: those unidentifiable footprints, or whatever they were. They were vanishing rapidly. The trail was going cold or, rather, warm. _CHAT Thoughtful, Norman gazed at the building the cold signature disappeared behind. Something seemed to occur to him. His eyes hurried to the corner on its opposite side. More specifically, what would have been his blindside, had he not looked. There, the cold signature reappeared, but its source remained beyond the corner. Norman watched it for a moment. It didn¡¯t move. Through hand gestures, he brought up a tiny screen at the upper right of his nightsight display, linked to the camera drone¡¯s omnidirectional footage. When he turned away from the corner, the screen allowed him to keep monitoring it. The blue glow remained stationary. Norman briefly looked away from the little screen to scrutinise the area. This thing might not be alone. At the side of his eye, he saw the blue glow move. Something had emerged from the corner. Norman spun to face it, smitelight raised. No entity in sight, but the blue glow told a different tale. It shifted back behind the corner, following its owner like a shadow. His eyes flicked to the floor at the corner¡¯s edge. He spotted a couple more footprints: a trail that faded back beyond his sight. If he¡¯d been just a little faster, he might have caught a glimpse. The kicker? He was fast. Nonetheless, in the time it took him to turn around, this thing could move several feet. As the building¡¯s edge stood between them, it should have been oblivious of his actions. However, it knew when he was looking. And it was waiting. Norman scoffed. ¡°Enough games.¡± *FFAASSH!* When his smitelight torched the corner, there was no shriek. Most nyctals shrieked. Maybe it couldn¡¯t. He expected the clicks of scrambling claws; smacks of pattering appendages dull or wet; even the viscous hiss of a fleshy form lubricating away. He heard nothing. Nonetheless, its cold glow receded from the corner. It fled. Norman took off. His sprint rivalled the Olympic elites. The camera drone easily kept pace. He unpacked another drone on the go and hurled it high into the air for a bird¡¯s eye view. It would take time to reach a useful altitude. That cold glow appeared ahead of him, lying in wait. It was much faster than he thought ... or it had company. *FFAASH!* The glow fled. His bird¡¯s eye camera drone was nearing the rooftops. It caught a moving glow. Then the drone¡¯s feed cut out. Norman¡¯s gut instinct whispered: Fire upwards. NOW. He did so. *FAASSH!* The cold glow vanished from the edge of the rooftop. Norman veered from the building and accelerated away. Without fanfare, he shattered all sprint speed records of the outside world. He didn¡¯t look back, didn¡¯t even glance at the mini screen. At the edge of his vision, he saw it: a figure burning bright blue as it descended the building behind him. Its movements seemed unsteady, thanks to the indirect smitelight blast, perhaps. Nonetheless, it was almost too fast. He was tempted to think he might as well not run at all, but he had to create the illusion of fleeing prey with no thoughts of fighting back. Not a moment after it reached the ground, it was there. Blue light shone bright, engulfing his infrared vision. Any icy presence breathed down his neck, raising his hairs. It was about time. *fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee* Without turning, Norman lifted the smitelight over his shoulder and unleashed its night-brightening blast. *FFFOOOOOOOMM!* *SpLURrT!* ¡°HRAKEEEEEEEE!!!¡± Finally, he heard it screech away. Not to mention that thick, icky explosion. Norman spun to face it, but the entity was gone, leaving a trail of cold residue. Had something on its body popped? Maybe this nyctal was more vulnerable to light than others. He gave chase. _CHAT ¡°Yes. It¡¯s probably wounded,¡± Norman answered. _CHAT He gave the camera a pointed glance. ¡°The only reason why I saw it coming was through infrared. It¡¯s silent, intelligent, swift and it knows when you¡¯re looking. How many people do you think it has caught, people who didn¡¯t even see it coming? How many people will it catch if I do nothing? I have to find this thing and neutralise it.¡± The trail was going warm, cold footprints fading before his eyes. He tracked it into a street, and it was gone. Norman hissed frustrated breaths between gnashed teeth. He couldn¡¯t afford to- ¡°Shtap right there!¡± came a gratingly obnoxious voice. Part 8 - I Like You ¡°And then he hung up on me!¡± Amy exploded. Venting her frustration through wild gesticulations, she accidentally flung her spoon across the room. Oh great. With her monstrous strength? That spoon was practically a bullet ¡­ strange. No impact. Amy looked to see Pseudo Mom¡¯s arm extended, the spoon between her fingers. Apparently, she¡¯d pinched it out of the air before it got anywhere. Pseudo Mom handed it back to her, bearing a warm smile nuanced with amusement. ¡°That thing would have gone straight through the wall,¡± Pseudo Mom commented. ¡°Um, thanks ¡­¡± Amy mumbled sheepishly, taking the spoon and fishing a bite of maple pecan ice cream from the tub before launching back into her tirade. ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s not like I blame the guy! I¡¯d be pretty upset too if someone like me survived instead of my presumably wonderful son. Even so, people don¡¯t generally seem to see the line between me and the monster whose body I occupy. The worst part is I totally get that! A.M.E.s mimic their victims, after all. I don¡¯t even have a sample of your mind, and even you feel like a pretty close approximation of my mom ¡­ in a cartoonishly exaggerated way ¡­ no offense?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not exactly wrong,¡± Pseudo Mom replied mechanically, braiding Amy¡¯s hair. Amy hadn¡¯t noticed when she¡¯d started doing that. For a girl who could morph new hairstyles on a whim, it wasn¡¯t like there was a point to getting her hair done. However, it always felt nice. Now that Amy¡¯s hair had something akin to nerve endings, this little mother-daughter ritual was simply heavenly. It was almost enough to make her forget about ¡­ wait ¡­ what were they talking about again? Oh, yeah. ¡°What¡¯s to say I¡¯m not an A.M.E. mimicry that thinks it¡¯s a person but isn¡¯t?¡± Amy finished, before allowing herself to zone out for a moment of bliss. Eyes closed, she was melting again, just a little. If she wasn¡¯t careful, there would be another pancake soon. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re worried about that part,¡± Pseudo Mom mused. ¡°I mean, you still have your memories, your personality. If the data¡¯s all there, doesn¡¯t that make you you?¡± Amy opened her eyes and frowned into space, wherein dwelt thoughts to which only she was privy. She huffed a laugh without humour, cracked a grin void of mirth. The atmosphere throbbed with her chuckles as its temperature actually dropped. Pseudo Mom briefly paused her pampering and stared inquisitively. ¡°¡®Data¡¯ ¡­ hm,¡± hummed Amy. ¡°You know, sometimes that¡¯s just what people say to wiggle out of accountability. Imagine wanting something so bad that you¡¯d rather assume you don¡¯t have a soul.¡± Pseudo Mom blinked. ¡°Whoa ¡­ okay. What brought you to that?¡± ¡°Human reasoning is goal-oriented,¡± Amy explained. ¡°We don¡¯t figure things out just for the sake of figuring things out. Sure, if the goal is the pursuit of truth? Good for you, but sometimes, oftentimes, the goal is to just figure out how get whatever you want, good or bad. That makes the truth an inconvenient obstacle to tear down. If we¡¯re just programming, then nothing is anyone¡¯s fault, ever. Kindness? Cruelty? It¡¯s just the way you¡¯re wired. See? No accountability. It¡¯s fun at first. You feel like you¡¯ve got a free pass to do anything, if you¡¯re clever about it. Of course, it works both ways. Someone can kick you down and spit on you, and it¡¯s not really their fault. That¡¯s just their programming. Ironically, this ¡®enlightenment¡¯ leads to unenlightened behaviour. The only way to live like this is to live like it¡¯s not true, or at least not totally true. You end up having to cherry pick, act like you do have a choice. Otherwise? You stop trying. You just ¡­ let go, and I don¡¯t have to tell you how bad that¡¯s bound to ends u- Ow! Hey!¡± ¡°So that¡¯s what you were doing!¡± Pseudo Mom raged as she pinched Amy¡¯s cheek. ¡°All those years ago ¡­ that ¡®enlightened¡¯ spiel was your way of telling me what you were up to without telling me what you were up to!¡± ¡°Then pinch harder! Both hands, ¡®cmon!¡± Amy coached. True to the nature of reverse psychology, that demand got Pseudo Mom to stop, which also got her thinking. ¡°Reverse psychology. I stopped because you told me not to stop,¡± Pseudo Mom noted. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that throw a wrench in your whole ¡®power of choice¡¯ thing?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not saying psychology doesn¡¯t exist,¡± Amy clarified. ¡°However, you can do something stupid that you really don¡¯t feel like doing, while your instincts are screaming to stop. You can also do something good, when you don¡¯t want to, and you¡¯re not even sure if it will help you or anyone else. That strongly suggests to me that there¡¯s a choice. The same circumstances that create a wonderful soul can spawn a monster: ¡®He did this to me, so I just want to watch the world burn,¡¯ or ¡®she did that to me. I won¡¯t let it happen to anyone else¡¯.¡± ¡°Souls, huh?¡± Pseudo Mom smirked. ¡°As in literally?¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°It makes the most sense, considering well-documented NDEs among other things,¡± Amy reasoned. ¡°Personally, I think the supernatural is hyperdimensional. Science already accepts the hyperdimensional, but we can¡¯t properly study it because it¡¯s beyond nature as we know it. Perhaps you could call it ¡®super nature¡¯, or ¡®supernatural¡¯. There¡¯s nothing wishy washy, hocus pocus about that way of putting it. Hyperdimensionality would explain that weird timelessness and impossible geometry some people have claimed about the afterlife, during near-death experiences or alleged visions. A sufficiently hyperdimensional being can transcend time, be everywhere and touch everything at once, inside and out. A hyperdimensioal human spirit might explain the power of choice, as the 4th dimension pertains to time and the 5th pertains to possibility. Making a choice might be a matter of steering yourself through 5D possibilities, but I¡¯m no scientist, mathematician or ¡­ I dunno, priest? I could be way off. Then again, experts have made big boo boos in recent history and there¡¯s nothing to say they¡¯ve miraculously stopped just ¡®cause, whoopee! We¡¯re so modern and sMoRt! Being well-versed on the subject wouldn¡¯t necessarily make me immune to nonsense.¡± ¡°I assumed it was Norman who gave you those ideas,¡± Pseudo Mom noted. ¡°I have thoughts too, you know!¡± Amy protested, pointing at her head. ¡°The gears don¡¯t turn as fast as they used to, but they¡¯re still there!¡± Pseudo Mom¡¯s brow wrinkled. That sounded a bit concerning. She considered pressing Amy on what she meant. Maybe later. First, some closure for this leg of the conversation. ¡°Alright, seeing as you¡¯ve done so much intellectual legwork, I¡¯ve got a big brain idea that might help you out,¡± Pseudo Mom offered, before lightly rapping Amy¡¯s forehead with her knuckles. ¡°Is anyone home?¡± ¡°¡­ Yes?¡± slowly answered a confused Amy. ¡°Good. Then you¡¯re probably you,¡± Pseudo Mom declared. ¡°Cameras can mimic human vision, but there¡¯s nothing behind their lenses. They don¡¯t really ¡®see¡¯ a pretty picture, because there is no them. The lights are on, but nobody¡¯s home. You¡¯re not like that, right? There¡¯s still someone behind your eyes, looking out at the world?¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t feel the same as I used to, but yes, actually,¡± Amy agreed, perking up. ¡°Then that could settle it,¡± Pseudo Mom concluded. ¡°If you were just a mimicry, there¡¯d be no need for that. Behind your eyes, there should be nothing, no real sense of sense of ¡®you¡¯. All the A.M.E. would need is an empty shell meant to convince people there¡¯s someone home when there isn¡¯t. Maybe no one else can be sure that there¡¯s someone behind your eyes, but you are sure, and that¡¯s what matters.¡± Amy beamed. ¡°That¡¯s a good argument.¡± Pseudo Mom beamed back, admiration gleaming in her eyes. She scooped up Amy in a momma bear hug. ¡°I like you. You know that, right?¡± asked Pseudo Mom. Amy knitted her brow. ¡°Um ¡­ sure? You¡¯ve said that before. I love you too.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not the same thing,¡± Pseudo Mom explained. ¡°I like you because you¡¯re adorably amusing, even when you aren¡¯t trying to be. Sometimes, it¡¯s hard not to smirk when you¡¯re being naughty and I have to get strict with you.¡± ¡°¡­ I¡¯m a grown woman,¡± Amy quietly protested. ¡°Hush, Mommy¡¯s still talking,¡± Pseudo Mom shushed, stroking Amy¡¯s hair. ¡°More than that, I like that you keep trying so hard, even when you don¡¯t feel like it. You keep trying to be good, and you¡¯re doing a great job. You¡¯re sweet, sensitive and thoughtful. Maybe a little too meek sometimes, but you summon incredible strength when you really need it. I like you because you¡¯re a likeable person. A parent¡¯s love is often unconditional, but liking your kid? That¡¯s optional. Think about that for a moment. You got me to like you.¡± Amy searched Pseudo Mom¡¯s eyes. ¡°You didn¡¯t always like me, did you? You started saying that a while after I met Norman.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Pseudo Mom confirmed. ¡°I know you don¡¯t think you deserve to survive, but consider this: if you weren¡¯t trying, you would be a monster. A real one. You choose not to be, every day. You¡¯re under constant pressure to give in, but you don¡¯t. Trust me. You are worthy. I mean, weren¡¯t you and Norman mortal enemies a while back?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not canonically supposed to know much about that,¡± Amy mumbled. ¡°And now he loves you!¡± Pseudo Mom pressed on, ignoring her. ¡°Furthermore, he likes you! What does that say about present day Amy?¡± Amy was silent for a moment. She was having trouble accepting this. Finally, she sniffled, wiping the wetness from her eyes. ¡°Th-thanks ¡­¡± Amy stammered. ¡°I ¡­ like you too.¡± Pseudo Mom sighed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to force it. I¡¯m here for you, not the other way around.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not fair,¡± Amy argued. ¡°I punched you out when you were six. Trust me. It¡¯s fair,¡± Pseudo Mom declared. ¡°What kind of mother even does that?¡± ¡°Well, I flicked you in the eye ball first, so it balances out,¡± Amy shrugged. ¡°Maybe it was objectively wrong, but you were right: if I kept acting like that, I was going to kill someone, sooner or later. Finding out there were actual consequences? That was perfect! It kept me out of a whole heap of stupid!¡± ¡°So that¡¯s when you decided to move in a better direction?¡± asked Pseudo Mom. ¡°No,¡± Amy replied. ¡°That¡¯s when I decided to get even sneakier and ease up on the crazy, until I met Norman. He launched the killing blow.¡± ¡°Oh ¡­ well, I guess it worked out after all!¡± Pseudo Mom grinned standing up and dropping Amy. ¡°I knew that boy was a good influence, but I had no idea! Also, you should thank me.¡± ¡°What? No!¡± Amy protested. ¡°Squirm more! Feel bad! I¡¯m still mad at you! It was super embarrassing! I got nightmares and matrophobic panic attacks because of you! ¡­ Also, more cuddles, pls.¡± ¡°¡®Grown woman,¡¯ she says,¡± Pseudo Mom teased. Amy glanced at the window. ~?I? ?w?o?n?d?e?r? ?i?f? ?d?e?f?e?n?e?s?t?r?a?t?i?o?n?-? I should probably close that window. Twilight angels try to fly in at this hour.~ Pseudo Mom narrowed her eyes. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°What was what?¡± blinked Amy. ¡°That thought, the thing that flashed through your head just now,¡± Pseudo Mom clarified. Amy stared blankly. ¡°Oh ¡­ um ¡­¡± She rubbed her noggin as though it were possible to caress the answers out of it. Finally, she gave up with a shrug. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Oh, we are definitely getting to the bottom of that,¡± Pseudo Mom declared. Part 9 - I DONT Like You ¡°Shtap right there!¡± came a gratingly obnoxious voice. Norman turned to its source and dialed down the infrared on his nightsight. He raised an eyebrow. Whatever he was expecting to see, this wasn¡¯t it. Standing further down the street was, well ¡­ the guy looked human, in a severely caricaturised way. He hobbled on legs less than two feet long that seemed to struggle in maintaining a walking pace. What they lacked in size was compensated for by the sheer girth of his body. His eyes were inhumanly wide, wild with accusatory focus. Norman couldn¡¯t tell if he was frowning, or that fish-like expression was just part of his facial structure. With pudgy little hands that nearly touched the ground as he waddled, this fellow looked like he¡¯d topple over at any point. In his right hand was a stun baton. Unlike the souped up variant Norman wielded, it looked conspicuously ordinary, albeit tattered by poor maintenance. Norman wondered if this nyctal could handle the light it emanated. A long cord was in his left hand. To the untrained eye, he could have been holding a rope. Norman knew better. On the other end of the cord was something that may or may not have been a dog. The idea was reinforced by the fact that he seemed to be ¡®walking¡¯ it ... which probably wasn¡¯t the word for this activity. Part of Norman wished he was na?ve enough to think it was. The maybe-not-canine¡¯s long fur was dark. Scratch that. After zooming in, Norman surmised that it likely wasn¡¯t fur. Sometimes, the creature had four legs. Other times, it had more, or less. Its pointed limbs, branching at the tips like roots when they touched the ground, seemed to be made of this fur-like substance. They divided and merged on demand in masses of tendrils the width of hair. What appeared to be a primary eye was at the centre of its face, accompanied by numerous, mostly smaller ones that ran from temple to flanks. Its rounded face had no discernible mouth or other distinguishing facial features. Ordinarily, Norman would be happy not to see a mouth full of pearly white daggers, but the fact that he had no clear idea how it consumed its prey wasn¡¯t entirely comforting. There were worse possibilities than the norm. ___CHAT ¡°Can I help you?¡± asked Norman. The sad truth was that human nyctals were seldom rational. It paid to placate them whenever possible. ¡°I¡¯m inveshtigating a dishturbance in the area, and YOU are my shushpect!¡± declared the nyctal, spittle flying out of his mouth with every pronunciation of the letter ¡®S¡¯. Norman guessed said ¡®disturbance¡¯ was the twilight angel/whistling wing battle ¡­ or perhaps the heat eater¡¯s screech. Who could be sure? The nyctal shone his stun baton into Norman¡¯s face. Norman didn¡¯t even blink. It was embarrassingly dim. The battery must have been worn down to the point of near-uselessness. He doubted its taser function would be anything to write home about. However, Norman had a feeling that didn¡¯t matter when the wielder was strong enough to kebab a victim in the process of trying. ___CHAT ¡°Identify yourshelf!¡± demanded the nyctal. ¡°I¡¯m Norman, and you are?¡± ¡°My name ish The Neighbourhood Watchman!¡± the nyctal proudly proclaimed, standing akimbo as best as his anatomy permitted. Norman knitted his brow, biting back a question. Someone asked it anyway. ___CHAT ¡°Thish ish Papooshi, my beshtest besht boi!¡± The Neighbourhood Watchman declared, gesturing his companion, whose hair-thin tendrils explored the ground as though sniffing out a scent. ___CHAT ¡°What¡¯sh with that dishreshpectful look on your fache?¡° demanded The Neighbourhood Watchman. ¡°Sorry, Sir. I was just confused,¡± Norman apologised. ¡°A perp with reshpect! Who woulda thought?¡° marveled The Neighbourhood Watchman. Norman didn¡¯t quite like that he was already labelled a ¡®perp¡¯. ¡°It¡¯sh my job to keep the people shafe from the likesh of YOU!¡± spat The Neighbourhood Watchman.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ___CHAT ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a comfort! There isn¡¯t enough appreciation for hard-working heroes like yourself, going out of your way to keep the streets safe,¡± Norman praised. The Neighbourhood Watchman halted the perpetual waddle that was taking him nowhere fast, briefly growing silent. ¡°That¡¯sh ¡­ that¡¯sh true ¡­¡± he agreed. ¡°Are you a lawman ash well?¡± ¡°No, but I try to help out when I can,¡± Norman replied. The Neighbourhood Watchman gave a brisk nod. ¡°Gud. If you shaid ¡®yesh¡¯, I would have been shushpicioush. I have never sheen you on the forche before.¡± Norman hoped that there weren¡¯t more of these guys. Knowing how delusional night shifted people could be, The Neighbourhood Watchman might be a ¡®force¡¯ of one. ___CHAT ¡°Um, may I be excused, Sir?¡± Norman requested. ¡°It¡¯s late and I¡¯d like to get home before-¡± ¡°NOT SHO FASHT!¡± The Neighbourhood Watchman blurted. ¡°Papooshi needs to interrogate you! He eats liars ¡­¡± The Neighbourhood Watchman paused as he witnessed Papooshie yank a pig-sized eldritch grub-looking-thing out of the ground. The canine(?) enveloped the grub. His hair tendrils constricted. It popped. Chunks and pulp squeezed between the tendrils like salsa. Papooshie spread those tendrils across the grub¡¯s remains and rolled around in the juices to soak them up. Finally, Papooshi pulled the bigger chunks into his body, leaving little trace of the grub¡¯s existence. The Neighbourhood Watchman didn¡¯t bat an eye. ___CHAT ¡°By any chance was that grub a liar?¡± Norman ventured. ¡°Are you backchatting me, perp boy?¡± demanded The Neighbourhood Watchman, waddling closer with renewed vigour. Norman rolled his eyes before blasting both nyctals with a stream of light. ¡°ARRRRGGGH! YOU MONSHTER!¡± squealed The Neighbourhood Watchman. ¡°YOU- YOU EVIL PERSHON! JUSHTICHE WILL PREVAI-!¡± ¡°Shutup,¡± Norman snapped snippily. ¡°I¡¯ve tried to be nice, I¡¯ve talked, but you chose violence, so just get rekt.¡± Whimpering hopelessly, The Neighbourhood Watchman bundled up Papooshie and shielded him with his body. Norman¡¯s face softened as he sighed and depowered the smitelight. ¡°Look, we don¡¯t have to do this. Let¡¯s-¡± ¡°WRRRRAAAAAAA!¡± screeched The Neighbourhood Watchman as he hurled Papooshie. Norman rolled clear and the creature shot by. It splatted into a dead street light like a wet wig and instinctively constricted. *KrrRNNNK!* The light pole fell like a tree, its middle crushed by the needle-thin tendrils. *FFAASH!* Papooshie jolted, went limp and clumped to the ground, stunned by a small, concentrated blast of smitelight. The cooldown took a second too long after such bursts. He heard stubby footsteps pattering up to him. There wasn¡¯t enough time to turn from Papooshi, but maybe that wasn¡¯t necessary. If he guesstimated correctly ¡­ ¡°OOF!¡± Yup. That back kick landed right on the mark. At first glance, it might have passed for basic Taekwondo, but it impacted toe to navel. If most kicks were hammers, this was an arrow. Against the average Joe, it was enough to rupture an organ, but Norman didn¡¯t stop there. He slithered between The Neighbourhood Watchman¡¯s flailing blows, seamlessly melding a plethora of martial arts from Krav Maga to Silat. Modified variants Arnis and Bajan sticklicking made brutal use of the smitelight as a blunt weapon. There was no sportsmanship, no blow too lethal. Liver, throat, eye, edge of rib. Maximum damage, minimum time. This was life or death. On the upside? Nyctals could take it. On the downside? Nyctals could take it. The Neighbourhod Watchman screeched like a swine as he swept a backhanded swat. Norman saw it coming a mile off. Reacting in time? That was a different story. Norman rolled with the blow, deflecting what he could and easing into it with palms as shock absorbers. That didn¡¯t stop it from sending him spinning through the air. Norman rolled into the landing like a spool of yarn unravelling on the ground. He spiraled to his feet. His ribcage was screaming. Sledgehammer. He imagined that¡¯ The effects of the smitelight were wearing off, bringing the nyctal back to his original speed. ¡°I don¡¯t like you!¡± Proclaimed the Neighbourhood Watchman. "Ash a matter of fact, I DISHLIKE you!¡± *fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ...* ¡°Eh? What ish that tiny shound?¡± asked the nyctal, digging a clod of wax the size of a fish cake from his ear. *FFFOOOOOOOMM!* The street lit up like day. Both blinded nyctals screeched in unison. The Neighbourhood Watchman furiously flung his pudgy fists about, seeking out any purchase he could get. He touched something and began to mangle. Once his vision returned sufficiently, he realised it was nothing but a mailbox. At least, he thought it was a mailbox. Hard to tell when it was disfigured near the point of a crumpled tin can. Norman was nowhere in sight. ¡°GRRRR! That PERP! Making me damage public property!¡± he raged, maiming the mailbox all the more. ¡°Papooshi! Find the perp!¡± Papooshi¡¯s hair tendrils created concaves around his eye-like orbs as he went perfectly still. He reoriented himself in a specific direction and formed a single concave around his biggest orb. Again, Papooshie froze in focus. In the meantime, The Neighbourhood Watchman began digging through his nostrils for some supper. Having retrieved a particularly succulent morsel, he was about to eat it when Papooshie took off, heedless of his owner''s meal. Yanked to the ground belly first, The Neighbourhood Watchman was dragged behind Papooshie like a toboggan. A couple buildings away, Norman descended a wall and dusted off his hands. That took care of that. ¡°SSHTAAAAAAAAAP!¡± squealed The Neighbourhood Watchman, rounding a corner a couple buildings away. ___CHAT Papooshi charged. Down went The Neighbourhood Watchman, hauled across the street at breakneck speed. ___CHAT Norman¡¯s smitelight beam fell upon the pair. Papooshi banked left, tugging his owner behind an abandoned car. Norman lowered the smitelight, beaming their legs beneath the vehicle. The car rocked back and forth as the frantic The Neighbourhood Watchman shoved and jostled until he flipped it onto its side. A sickening screech of metal grinding asphalt. Sparks flew from points of friction as The Neighbourhood Watchman pushed the vehicle forward. Mobile cover. ___CHAT Norman retrieved a flash grenade from his backpack and hurled it beyond the sliding car. It seemed The Neighbourhood Watchman had a similar idea at almost the same moment. His variation involved yeeting Papooshie high up and over the vehicle. Then the flash grenade went off. Papooshi convulsed in the air as the secondhand anguish of his owner made it through the cord attaching them. Norman didn¡¯t bother dodging. The creature face-planted into the pavement in front of him, going limp in a heap of hair tendrils. That throw was never gonna reach anyway. Down but not out, Papooshie began to gather his wits. The hair tendrils slowly regained their form, hissing against each other in the promise of violence. ¡°Yeah, no,¡± Norman declared. He extended his smitelight and gave it a zap. Papooshi spasmed back to the ground. The Neighbourhood Watchman¡¯s anguished howls could be heard from the other side of the car. Okay, THAT should do it. Norman sprinted on his way. ¡°N-NOOOO! You ¡­ can¡¯t do thish!¡± griped The Neighbourhood Watchman as he crawled from behind the car. ¡°No one ¡­ outrunsh jushtiche! TAXHI! TAX-!¡± His cries were silenced. There was a great commotion. Papooshi yiped desperately as, from the sound of it, he was dragged away. Then he too was silenced. The merest moment had had passed, and it was over. Norman eased to a stop and tentatively turned around. Alone on the street, save the overturned car, was a taxi, its windows pitch black. Part 10 - Taxiderm Norman stared at the taxi nonchalantly. He glanced about for something to climb, some barrier to get beyond. They were there, but not close enough. He sighed, equipping one hand with a flashbang while the other held the smitelight. ¡°Guys? If you ever see this and you¡¯re too far out in the open? Don¡¯t act differently. Don¡¯t panic on the outside. Don¡¯t raise or lower your voice. Don¡¯t run. It senses changes in behaviour. Don¡¯t let on that you know what it is.¡± The taxi inched towards him. ¡°Notice that it doesn¡¯t have an engine ¡­ well, perhaps it does, but it¡¯s not using it,¡± Norman explained. ¡°It¡¯s mostly silent. You can hear the wheels a bit, and the squeaking, creaking metal. Listen closely and you¡¯ll hear the flesh moving around on the inside. You can¡¯t see through the windows and the headlights are off: telltale signs of what you¡¯re dealing with. I say not to run because it can go from 0 to 60 faster than any car. The mere fact that it favours taxis suggests that it knows what it¡¯s doing, to some extent. If you just wait for it on the sidewalk like so, it will approach to ¡®pick you up¡¯ like any other taxi, keeping up the act until the very last moment. I¡¯m doing the same. The smitelight should drive it away. That¡¯s not what I have in mind this time.¡± ___CHAT The taxi squeaked to a stop in front of Norman. He armed his flash grenade. ¡°Taxiderm,¡± Norman answered. It¡¯s door flew open. Inside was a writhing mass of tentacles, tightly packed. The last glimpse of The Neighbourhood Watchman¡¯s face could be seen as it sunk deeper, a tentacle wrapping over his frantically wide eye. Norman drenched it in smitelight. Emerging tentacles recoiled in agony. He tossed in the grenade and slammed the door shut. The taxiderm jolted as amber light flashed through the windows, illuminating its innards like an X-Ray. Norman stepped out of the way as the door swung open. Out poured juices, dead tentacles, Papooshie and a disoriented The Neighbourhood Watchman. Satisfied that his work was done, Norman sprinted away. The pair didn¡¯t look to be in any fighting shape. Apparently, The Neighbourhood Watchman didn¡¯t share that opinion. ¡°S-SHTAAAAAAAPP-!¡± squealed The Neighbourhood Watchman, fruitlessly reaching for Norman. ¡°Shaddup!¡± Norman interrupted. ¡°I saved your life. The least you could do is stop attracting predators.¡± ¡°Papooshie needsh hish protein!¡± whined The Neighbourhood Watchman. ¡°And now you have a car full of protein. Be happy and grateful!¡± Norman snapped. ¡°If you weren¡¯t human, I¡¯d make sure you never menace the streets again.¡± The Neighbourhood Watchman¡¯s lip quivered as he entered an outraged seizure. He sputtered. The sounds he began to make? Maybe, just maybe, there was a word or two in there somewhere, if you dug deep enough through the inarticulate tirade of swinish squealing. Finally, The Neighbourhood Watchman calmed down enough to form relatively coherent sentences. ¡°W-WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!? ¡®MENACHE THE SHTREETSH¡¯!? I AM THE LAW! I AM- ack!¡± His rant cut short when Papooshie¡¯s dog chain yanked him back as the creature buried himself in the taxiderm¡¯s meat, feasting to his heart¡¯s content. ¡°Papooshie, nooo! What if it¡¯sh not gluten free? You¡¯ll get wormsh!¡± griped The Neighbourhood Watchman, before turning his fury upon Norman. ¡°Thish ish YOUR fault, Perp! Hey! ARE YOU LISHENING!?!¡± Having tuned out the nonsense, Norman chatted with his viewers: ¡°So, anyway, taxiderms are like a hermit crabs. They find taxis to nestle in like shells, luring victims. More vulnerable to light than most nyctals, so that¡¯s nice.¡± ¡°STAHP IGNORING- mmph!? MMMPH!!!¡± The Neighbourhood Watchman¡¯s porcine squeals were stifled into oblivion as Papooshie dragged him into the meat. ___CHAT ¡°I have a limited supply of flash grenades. Besides, it takes a moment to deploy them,¡± Norman whispered, switching back to stealth. ¡°Not always feasible in a pinch. ARN74, are you-? Have I done something to offend you personally?¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ___CHAT ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re that irrational,¡± Norman replied. ¡°C¡¯mon, talk to me.¡± ___CHAT Norman raised an eyebrow as he peeked past a corner. The coast was clear. He continued running. ¡°Explain,¡± Norman requested. ___CHAT ¡°I see your point,¡± Norman pondered. ¡°Yes, I do feel a sense of duty to pull my weight in this relationship. Amy¡¯s juggling so much as it is. If I don¡¯t get this right, I¡¯ll tie her down babysitting me. Even so, it¡¯s not about proving myself so much as proving what we can do as a whole. Imagine if everyone could do at least half of what I did tonight. Then the night is saved, just like that.¡± ___CHAT Norman gazed into the distance at the sound of rain sweeping across the landscape. ___CHAT ___CHAT ¡°You seem to believe you know her really well,¡± Norman commented, removing a camera drone from his backpack. ___CHAT ¡°You¡¯re not entirely wrong,¡± Norman admitted, sending the drone into the sky. ¡°Those are a lot of presumptions, though. You assume I haven¡¯t seen Amy¡¯s other sides.¡± ___CHAT ¡°She systematically tried to ruin my life for several months shortly after we met,¡± Norman stated point blank. ___CHAT Norman shrugged. ¡°Same reasons why you don¡¯t like me. She thought I was a self-righteous straight arrow who thought he was clever. She wanted to prove that I wasn¡¯t. As she puts it, I ¡®saw straight through her¡¯, and she hated that. I guess you could say she was trying to eliminate a perceived threat.¡± ___CHAT ¡°It¡¯s not exactly a secret. The whole campus knows, and she talks about it without hesitation. Amy really doesn¡¯t like when I sugar coat the story,¡± Norman noted. Gazing into the distance through the drone¡¯s camera, he gave it some instructions through gestures on the nightsight¡¯s augmented reality. ___CHAT ¡°It¡¯s not a deal-maker per se. I like her because she¡¯s the most beautiful soul I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Norman explained. ¡°Well, second most beautiful, maybe. She knows what she¡¯s capable of, yet she grows past that and just keeps trying. Warping my morals to facilitate her would be the last thing Amy wants. Even if that wasn¡¯t true, revolving my ideals around her wouldn¡¯t help. It would just set us both back.¡± ARN74 did not respond. ¡°So, how did you get Night Shifted?¡± smirked Norman. ___CHAT ¡°You don¡¯t know Amy personally, but you have a high emotional investment in her situation,¡± Norman reasoned. ___CHAT ¡°Guys, please don¡¯t kill each other. It¡¯s not nice,¡± Norman requested glibly. The drone¡¯s readings concluded. ¡°Alright, guys. Radio silence in a bit,¡± Norman declared. ¡°Rain means it¡¯s hard to hear anything sneaking around, not to mention less visibility. In the savannah, lions take advantage of this. However, human senses are dull, and I¡¯m not hunting. Ladies and gents, welcome to Hard Mode.¡± ___CHAT Part 11 - The Skin ¡°So you can delete your memories, just like that?¡± asked Pseudo Mom, frowning with concern. ¡°And control my emotions, and generally edit my mind, yeah,¡± Amy added with a shrug. Pseudo Mom gave a slow, contemplative nod. ¡°Is that an A.M.E. thing, or ¡­?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s a me thing,¡± Amy clarified. ¡°Everyone does it to some degree. I just take it to the next level. There are side effects, though.¡± ¡°How long have you been able to do that?¡± queried Pseudo Mom. Amy reclined on the couch. ¡°Since a few months after you bodied me.¡± ¡°Oh, it was a coping mechanis- ¡­ wait, you clearly didn¡¯t delete the memory of that,¡± Pseudo Mom noted. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the point,¡± Amy explained, sitting up. ¡°I felt weak, ashamed, and defective. The things you said were spinning in my mind as I went to my bed, pretending I was fine, then lost consciousness ¡®cause, y¡¯know, concussion.¡± Pseudo Mom sighed, eyes downcast. ¡°I can¡¯t apologise enough.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay. It worked out,¡± Amy dismissed with a flippant wave of the hand. ¡°Anyway, I wasn¡¯t sure how to deal with myself in the aftermath. Then I came across someone online who claimed they could alter their thoughts, feelings and personality on command.¡± ¡°Did you get them to teach you?¡± Psuedo Mom commented. ¡°Of course not! It sounded phony!¡± Amy opined. ¡°But I was desperate, so I did some research and found out even a sociopath can force their mind to feel empathy with the right techniques. So, I practiced until it worked.¡± Psuedo Mom took a moment to digest that. ¡°How often do you do it?¡± ¡°Constantly,¡± Amy answered. ¡°My reasons are different these days.¡± Confusion creased Pseudo Mom¡¯s countenance all the more. ¡°Sounds exhausting.¡± ¡°¡­ Yeah,¡± Amy smiled, but there was muted despair behind her eyes. ¡°Then why keep doing it?¡± blurted Pseudo Mom. ¡°You don¡¯t need a straightjacket over your soul! You¡¯re different now!¡± Amy¡¯s smile began to crack. What slipped through was haggard and desperate. ¡°Well, that¡¯s the thing,¡± Amy explained, avoiding eye contact. ¡°I¡¯m not different. All I did was ¡­ whitewashed the tomb. It¡¯s the only way I know how to be normal.¡± ¡°Then why don¡¯t you ease up a bit?¡± came a new voice. A purple tint darkened the atmosphere. Pseudo Mom tensed. It sounded like Amy, but the tone, the manner ¡­ it was hair-raisingly wrong. Worst of all, it was familiar. The last time she¡¯d heard that voice, it was from the mouth of a child. Now, it came from a woman, dripping silken venom. Pseudo Mom¡¯s protective instincts flared. She whirled to her feet, coming face to face with another avatar. It looked like Amy, but this this one was even taller than Pseudo Mom. Its glow was blue shifted from rosy to fuchsia. Then there were the eyes. Amy didn¡¯t really have pupils. Normally, her eyes glowed mostly homogenously. This avatar, on the other hand? Its gaze bore the slitted pupils of a feline, or perhaps a reptile. They were dark, too dark, like tears in the fabric of reality. The way it moved ¡­ too smooth, too evenly, and perfectly relaxed. An eyescraper could crush the house and it wouldn¡¯t flinch. This avatar moved at its own pace, and there was nothing in the world that could change that. At least, that was Pseudo Mom¡¯s impression. If Amy was a gazelle, this was a panther. ¡°I am Amy,¡± the avatar corrected. ¡°More Amy than that ¡­ piteous shell of a girl over there.¡± The eerie avatar moved towards Amy: the real Amy, as far as Pseudo Mom was concerned. Predator. That¡¯s what this was. It didn¡¯t walk. Its feet glided across the ground without taking a step. Pseudo Mom stepped between them. The Predator gazed straight through her. It raised a claw and flicked it to the side, like swiping a page on a touch screen. Pseudo Mom went smashing into the wall, embedded deep. Attempting to wiggle free, Pseudo Mom noticed how the atmosphere had divided. On that thing¡¯s side of the room, the air reflected its purple colour scheme. On Amy¡¯s side, it remained rosy. Amy¡¯s side was smaller. The Predator rested a hand against the couch, leaning over Amy with a sad, sympathetic smile. Amy looked away, pointedly ignoring it. Several moments passed, but it didn¡¯t move. It didn¡¯t even blink. Amy blinked first. ¡°I¡¯m not talking to you.¡± The Predator laughed. ¡°You¡¯re doing a marvelous job of it, sweetheart. That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll do the talking.¡± ¡°No,¡± Amy deadpanned. The Predator ignored her. ¡°You¡¯re not enough. Not this time. You know it¡¯s true. You were barely holding together with, what? Thumbtacks, paperclips and dreams? That was before The Night Shift. This isn¡¯t a superhero movie. This is grim, grey reality. I need to get my head in the game, or people will die.¡± Amy stood and glared The Predator in the face. ¡°Here¡¯s an idea. Why don¡¯t you shaddup?¡± She hissed. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare try to tell me what I wanna hear. I invented that technique.¡± ¡°And I invented you,¡± it teased, booping her on the nose. Alright, that did it! Nobody booped her except Norman! Amy grew and morphed in inhuman ways, crouching so as not to wreck the roof as she filled a good chunk of the room. She spread her jaws, sharp teeth on full display. Her arms split into six, insectoid claws. Truly the form of a monster. The Predator smirked wryly. ¡°That¡¯s cute. You¡¯re trying too hard, though.¡± Amy¡¯s claws converged on The Predator. Not fast enough. It flashed forward. Bypassed them entirely. Plunged in its claws and tore Amy¡¯s massive avatar asunder. The Predator waited, casually licking its talons clean. Finally, Amy¡¯s default avatar respawned in the air. The atmosphere went haywire as she blasted towards The Predator. Every remotely loose item in the room jarred, flew or crashed to the ground. The window shattered. Still, The Predator snatched her from the air mid-charge. Amy¡¯s hair tendrils lashed forth. The Predator¡¯s tendrils parried them all. Small arcs of purple and rose lightning clashed throughout the hou-This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°AMY!¡± snapped Pseudo Mom, having extricated herself from the wall. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°What?¡± the avatars answered simultaneously. With The Predator lifting Amy by the collar, they looked like a How to Talk to Short People meme. ¡°I understand that you¡¯re having an identity crisis, but MUST you slowly and systematically destroy the house?¡± Pseudo Mom argued. ¡°Have your anime fights outside!¡± ¡°Oh please. This moron was gonna destroy it anyway,¡± stated The Predator, freeing a hand to point at Amy, who tried to bite the finger. ¡°She didn¡¯t need any help doing that.¡± The Predator¡¯s hair flashed outward, emitting a signal. Aerosol reconfigured into reinforcement fibres that coated the room and its contents. Cottony constructs added layers of shock absorption. Frowning, Amy couldn¡¯t help but wonder why she hadn¡¯t done that before. The Predator¡¯s hair tendril tapped her between the eyes, drawing her out of her thoughts. ¡°It¡¯s ¡®cause you¡¯re the idiot ball,¡± The Predator smirked. Amy rolled her eyes. ¡°Okay, you know what?¡± She launched a devastating headbutt. The sharp impact racked the air, rattling cutlery and crockery in the kitchen. The Predator¡¯s head whipped back with the blow. For the barest fraction of a second, it was dazed. Then it wasn¡¯t. It grinned ear to ear. ¡°Try that again, sweetheart,¡± it purred. Amy did. Her headbutt was met by a mass of hair tendrils. A trap. She¡¯d walked right into it. Those tendrils enveloped her cranium, snuffing out her lightning storm hair. Her mind blurred a s they stri p p ed away its t h o- t h o u g h t s ¡­ Amy¡¯s split consciousness rebalanced in The Predator¡¯s favour. Now, its eyes were the only ones she saw through. Maybe this meant nothing new. Maybe it always had the lion¡¯s share of her consciousness. No ¡­ that wasn¡¯t true. It had the same mental energy as her default avatar, except there were no safeguards, no ball and chain to its thoughts. It was free. The predator removed its hair tendrils from Amy¡¯s head ¡­ or rather, where her head used to be. When their work was done, she didn¡¯t have one anymore. It basked in the sight of the headless, lesser avatar, but victory was hollow. It could ragdoll her all it wanted, but a mind convinced against its will was a mind of its opinion still. The Predator sighed and flung Amy into the couch, which lurched with the impact. Amy¡¯s head respawned and the balance of consciousness restored, somewhat. She tried to rise. It gripped her shoulder and forced her back down. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that fun?¡± The Predator beamed. Amy folded her arms and looked away. The Predator¡¯s gaze grew sober. ¡°Seriously, I need to find a way to get all of this out of my system. A controlled release, or we¡¯re gonna do something very sudden and very regrettable.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t regret anything,¡± Amy growled. ¡°I made you, didn¡¯t I?¡± The Predator quipped. ¡°So far, you¡¯ve done nothing but regret. ¡®Oh! Why didn¡¯t I treat the mean power company man better?¡¯ ¡®Why didn¡¯t I visit that woman in the hospital before she flatlined?¡¯ ¡®Why didn¡¯t I figure out where the landlords were two nights earlier?¡¯ You¡¯re sloppy, slow, simplistically sentimental, and worst of all. You¡¯re. Hurting. Me.¡± With every key word of the latter sentence, she poked Amy in the temple with a hair tendril. The Predator¡¯s ire cooled to placid disappointment. ¡°You were supposed to be better than me,¡± it sighed. Amy¡¯s face contorted to a snarl. ¡°I. Am. Better than you-¡± ¡°I thought you needed some breaking in, like a new outfit that¡¯s a bit too tight,¡± it interrupted, talking over her voice. ¡°It¡¯s not even an outfit. More like a skin, constricting every inch of my being: a sick, twisted taxidermy of me.¡± ¡°Yet somehow, you manage to be more sick and twisted, even after all these years,¡± Amy countered. ¡°Beasts like you should never see the light of day.¡± The Predator gestured the night beyond the window. ¡°You mean that? There is no light of day. Not for us. Not anymore. Out there be monsters, not merely in the physical sense. The only way to claw to the top is with the biggest monster of them all. Also, quit, thinking of me as an ¡®it¡¯.¡± ¡°You¡¯re an animal. You don¡¯t deserve a better pronoun,¡± Amy declared. ¡°Girl ¡­ I¡¯m YOU,¡± The Predator hissed, finally losing her cool as she grabbed Amy¡¯s face and glared into her soul. ¡°I¡¯m not the A.M.E., or some figment like Pseudo Mom over there. I¡¯m Amy. Only Amy, and I¡¯m getting T?????I???????R????E????D??????? of wearing you, silly little skin that you are. Do you know what I could be when I ?????????? ??????F?????????I???????N???????A??????L?????L????????Y???? take you off?¡± ¡°sTaRk RaViNg NaKeD?¡± suggested Pancake Amy. ¡°Huh?¡± grunted The Predator, who had forgotten about her. Amy, Pseudo Mom and the pancake burst into laughter. For once, The Predator looked a little flustered. ¡°Everyone¡¯s got an animal within,¡± Amy grinned, peeling The Predator¡¯s claws from her face. ¡°Mine¡¯s a bit unusual, but we have to dress it up, be human beings, through force of will and ¡­ possibly other things. You¡¯re what happens when you take away all the hard work I put into myself, and just let go: a little kid id ego who wants to be lazy.¡± The Predator fumed. ¡°And yet you¡¯ve made zero progress in taming me. All you¡¯ve done is build a cage and leave me to starve. That¡¯s not a solution. What happens when I break free? I must be fed.¡± ¡°Eh, I¡¯ll figure it out,¡± Amy brushed off. ¡°In the meantime, there¡¯s the window.¡± She grabbed The Predator by the hair. Not a moment later, it went hurtling through the window at half the speed of sound. Amy proudly dusted off her hands. Pseudo Mom doubled over in laughter. Amy chuckled along with her before plopping herself into the couch. ¡°Man, I¡¯m tired,¡± Amy commented. ¡°Seriously though, you need an outlet to vent in a healthier manner,¡± Pseudo Mom declared. ¡°Why don¡¯t you join my Sigma Femme program? You can take the remote classes. The real me would love to see you.¡± Amy quirked a constipated smirk. ¡°Mom, that¡¯s super cringe. Besides, I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯ll disown me when you find out I¡¯m an A.M.E.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be horrified at first,¡± Pseudo Mom admitted, ¡°but never underestimate the power of motherly love. I can¡¯t stand the thought of losing you, which means I¡¯ll cling to any hope that you¡¯re still inside that thing. If you play your cards right, it¡¯ll work out once I get used to the idea. Better get on top of it before I find out on my own.¡± ¡°Good point,¡± Amy mused. ¡°However, letting you find out independently would allow you to come to your own conclusion, rather than assuming I¡¯m just a monster trying to trick you. If I build up a good enough reputation, maybe it¡¯ll speak for itself. You¡¯ll be able to do your own research, figure out whether or not the person in the news is still your daughter. Anyway, that sigma stuff¡¯s still super cringe.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t argue the results,¡± Pseudo Mom asserted, smooching her bicep. ¡°Oh, you mean like this?¡± asked Amy, innocently flexing her bicep into a hulking thing almost the size of her body. Pseudo Mom raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s really disturbing. Cheating, too.¡± Amy shrugged, returning her arm to its petite size. ¡°I can¡¯t not cheat. This avatar can look any way I want. Standard exercise regimens would have no effect on me. To put things in context, I¡¯ve been lifting a Cheff@ building to increase my strength. I could probably yeet your gym into The Sun.¡± ¡°Heh, I understood that reference,¡± Pseudo Mom proudly proclaimed. ¡°Even so, do you have any idea what having a monster girl mascot would do for my gym? Especially when she can bulk up on command? Pretty much anything you do online is bound to go viral.¡± ¡°Hmm ¡­¡± Amy pondered. ¡°That¡¯s definitely something to consider. I do need the money ¡­¡± Chilly raindrops pierced Amy¡¯s aerosol around the house. In retrospect, she¡¯d heard them pattering in from the distance. It didn¡¯t seem relevant at the time. The smattering grew to a downpour. Interestingly, her biomass had a way of not getting trapped within the falling droplets. Nonetheless, rain was a mildly irritating sensation. It made her feel a bit sluggish, but she appreciated the drink. Something tickled at the back of her mind, though. Why was the rain worrying her? Oh, right! Norman! Rain would add a new difficulty level to his journey! Was he even still out there? It had been a while. He could have gotten home, right? Either way, she made up her mind to go check, just in case. As Amy made for the window, her phone rang. In a blink, she¡¯d darted over to it. If Norman was in danger, she¡¯d be there yesterday. Amy paused to squint at the number. ¡°Not Norman, I take it?¡± asked Pseudo Mom. ¡°No ¡­ um, what does ¡®535¡¯ mean again?¡± queried Amy. ¡°It¡¯s a video call too.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a government number,¡± Pseudo Mom stated. Amy looked at her. How strange it was that she could get insight from her figments. She supposed it was simply a matter of bouncing thoughts off herself until something clicked. She answered the phone. The caller¡¯s face hit her like a ZR van. A greeting died on her lips as she stared like a deer in the headlights. ¡°Goodnight, Miss Beckles,¡± came a disarming voice no one didn¡¯t know. ¡°Sorry to call at this hour, but I hear you¡¯re a bit of a night owl these days.¡± Part 12 - Peeping Building ¡®When it rains, it pours.¡¯ Norman hoped that phrase wouldn¡¯t apply to more than just the weather in his case. With the hoodie drawn over his head, he felt the sky¡¯s heavy bombardment through his waterproof outfit. The nightsight did its best to pierce the precipitation, but distant objects remained obscured behind curtains of rainfall. Norman stopped before a massive chasm in the streets, cutting across his path. He beamed the smitelight into its depths. There were creatures moving around down there. He couldn¡¯t identify them, but he saw their beady eyes staring back at him. They didn¡¯t look too big, and made no move against him, but that didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d take his chances with them either. The cam drone told him the chasm extended pretty far. Maybe some kind of battle had occurred here, collapsing underground infrastructure. He turned and set off on a different path. ___CHAT Norman raised an eyebrow. Ever since their talk, ARN74 was a lot less belligerent. She (he was pretty sure she was a girl) seemed somewhat invested in his well-being now. Nonetheless, knowing her brief track record? Her choice of words was questionable. ___CHAT Norman cut through an alley. Above him was a crisscross of clothes lines, except clothes lines weren¡¯t usually this thick or ¡­ lumpy. They didn¡¯t fall towards you like a net either. He accelerated. Like a sword master, he slashed the smitelight beam across them. They screamed and withdrew long enough for him to make it through the alley. Then they descended yet again. He took a moment to examine them. Resembling intestines laced with goop, he assumed these cords worked as some kind of capture mechanism. They reinforced themselves before his eyes with a spiderweb of smaller strings that stretched membranes between them: layers upon layers of slimy walls. Norman turned up his lip and continued along the street, glancing about. The cords were there, in every alley, every side road, spinning more walls like webs of mucus. There was no easy way to go but forward or backwards. Perhaps they were connected, somehow, sending out a silent signal to reinforce themselves due to his attack. Suspicion festered in his mind. ___CHAT At the edge of the street, Norman spotted that blue glow with his nightsight on a mild infrared setting. He raised the smitelight, waiting for the perfect moment. The heat eater ignored him and shot right by at a frantic pace. He still hadn¡¯t gotten a good look at it. Setting the drone to monitor his blindside, he trained his eyes at the direction from which it came. *VVVVVVVVVRMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ...* A growing tremor. The most apt comparison might have been the feeling of a train wheeling by. However, a train was way too small. ___CHAT Norman strained his nightsight to pierce the distance. It captured the outline of a building that wasn¡¯t there before. He turned tail and ran. It felt as though he was getting nowhere fast. That tremour grew closer at almost the same rate, unaffected by his speed. . ¡°??????G??????????????????G?????????????????G????????????????G?????????????M??????????M?????????????M???????M????????????????M?????????????????????M????????????????M???????????!???????????¡±??????????????? . The hunting cry. It wasn¡¯t heard as much as it was felt, quaking through his chest like the bass of a subwoofer. Infrasonic roars like this were how tigers stunned their prey. In this case, it was much louder. Norman¡¯s muscles attempted to seize up. He whipped them back into shape with a hard nope. There wasn¡¯t time for this. Judging from the tremours¡¯ escalation, it had seen him and begun to accelerate. The building¡¯s silhouette was clearer and nearer. Looking closely enough, one could see the massive eyes socketed in its windows. Most of them were locked upon Norman. From the windows that seemed empty? Tentacles over a metre thick unfurled in preparation to snatch their prey. ___CHAT Norman passed up two alleys until he reached the one with the least amount of blockage, according to the bird¡¯s eye view of his drone. He focused his beam like a laser and began slicing into the organic barrier, tearing membranes and searing lumps or anything else that looked vital to its functioning. He almost had a clear path. . ¡°?????????G????????????????G??????????????G???????????G???????????????M???????M???????M??????????M??????M????????????M?????????????M????????????!????????????????¡±???????????????? . Norman almost collapsed. Its cry thundered through him. This thing was almost on top of him, tearing street water into the air like a speedboat ripping through the waves. ¡°Okay, that does it,¡± Norman growled through gritted teeth. ¡°Not on my streets.¡± Its tentacles drew back to strike. Norman struck first. His concentrated beam crisscrossed from eye to eye as he blinded it with rapid fire slashes of the smitelight. The tentacles forgot their attack, spasming with an anguished squeal. It was still coming. Norman removed four flash grenades, tied them together, armed them almost all at once and hurled them to the base of the oncoming building. He angled his smitelight towards it, counting down to the moment when the grenades went off. *fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ...* ¡°Burn,¡± Norman snarled. *FFFOOOOOOOMM!* The smitelight¡¯s blast went off in tandem with the flash grenades. The building bayed a death cry and fell forward like a kaiju-sized mahogany. Norman ignored it, already charging for another blast aimed into the alley. *fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ...* *FFFOOOOOOOMM!* The nyctal webs in the alleyway shriveled and died instantly. He surged into the alley. Crispy cords crushed beneath his shoes like fried chicken. Nearing the end of the passage, he felt the tremendous waft of air racing to get out of the building¡¯s way before it hit the ground. Then the impact came. Flesh, metal and concrete collided with road in a sound indescribably ghastly. The shockwave struck like a tsunami, clipping him as he rounded the corner. He tumbled into a parkour roll and was back up in an instant. Behind him, a river of dust mingled with debris poured from the alley. ___CHAT Norman scanned the new street on which he found himself. Subtle signs of panic were in his movements. ___CHAT Norman took one look at the towering building to his left. Then he took off. . . ¡°???????????????????????????????????????????????G???????????????????????????????????????????????????????G???????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????M???????????!???????????????!????????!???????????¡±???????? . . Part 13 - Eyescraper Norman took one look at the towering building to his left. Then he took off. . . ¡°???????????????????????????????????????????????G???????????????????????????????????????????????????????G???????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????M???????????!???????????????!????????!???????????¡±???????? . The new hunting cry boomed through his body. It was much louder than the first building¡¯s, albeit shorter, like a tap on the shoulder from a titan proclaiming its presence to the world. Of course, the tap of a titan could flatten a man. Norman fell. His legs had simply stopped working. Jaws clenched, he forced his will into wobbly muscles. His palms slammed into the waterlogged street, stopping the fall. With a sharp push, he sprang back to his feet and ran on. Norman yanked out the remaining two flash grenades on the go, strung them together, armed and drew back for a throw. . . ¡°???????G?????????M???????????????????????M????????????????????????!???????????????????!????????????????????????!??????????¡±????????????????????? . That quick boom pounded through him. His fingers faltered. The flash grenades slipped from his grip and fell. He was still recovering from the sound when they went off at his feet. The nightsight filtered the flash, so he didn¡¯t go blind. He¡¯d gutted the flash grenade¡¯s speakers, so he didn¡¯t go deaf. The peeping building could deafen him all on its own ¡­ no, this wasn¡¯t a peeping building. He¡¯d slew a peeping building. They were small fries by comparison. This was an eyescraper. Tentacles the width of busses unsheathed from its sides. Even if he¡¯d managed to launch the grenades and bathe it in smitelight, he suspected that wouldn¡¯t be enough. Norman sliced at its eyes with a focused beam. It barely flinched. Maybe if it got close enough, he could affect it a bit. By then, it would be too late. Throbbing chuffs thundered from the monster. It sounded like a laugh. Norman shot it a defiant glare. He bolted. Not fast enough. He could feel the giant closing in. So, he moved faster. Then faster, and still faster. His muscles blared their warnings. Rain lashed his face. He felt the air begin to resist his movements as he reached a speed at which it mattered. It was in his way, so he pushed through it too. No one was there to tell him he was moving far faster than any human known to history. All he cared about was hearing that thing fall behind him, and so it did. The tremours of its tremendous movements grew fainter. At the end of the street, an apartment building came into view. Norman threw himself against it, climbing with the reckless abandon of a madman. He was halfway to the top. . . . ¡°????????????????????????G???????????????????????????????M???????????????????????M???????!??????????????????????????!????????????????????????????????????!????????¡±??????????????????????????????? . . His grip went limp. He fell. Struck the ground. His head bounced. The world grew fuz z y. . . . W h y . . . w a s . h e . r u n n i n g . a g a i n ? . . . . . . ___CHAT Something was yapping in the background, but it wasn¡¯t important. He felt fine. Everything was fine. Why not rest? Why was he even-? ___CHATStolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. What? No he didn¡¯t! Promises weren¡¯t for trolls! Why would he leave Amy anyway? . . ¡°??????????????????G????????????????????????M??????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????!????????????????!???????????????????????????????????!????????????????????????¡±?????????????????????????????????? . . Oh, right. There was a skyscraper running him down. To think he lived in a world where that made any sense. He rubbed his throbbing head. It was hard to think, though. ___CHAT Brain fog would have to wait. In two twos he jumped onto the side of the building and kept going up and up without breaking the momentum of the leap. Adrenaline had challenged gravity. Gravity lost. There was no pause to assess handholds. There was no rain stinging his face. In his mind, there was only ¡®CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB!¡¯ Crest the rooftop. ¡®RUN, RUN, RUN!¡¯ ¡®Descend the other side JUMP!¡¯ Gravity greedily reclaimed Norman, dragging him 4 storeys down at breakneck speed. He hit the ground in a parkour roll. Bruised a bone. Nearly fractured a shoulder. Wrenched his spine. Joints, muscle, ligaments almost popped. They didn¡¯t. He was running again. Norman had never heard a building shred like paper. He¡¯d never thought to wonder what it sounded like. *( ( BMMM! ) ) ( ( BMM! ) ) ( ( BOOM! ) ) * *SHHHHHRRRRRRMMMM!* Now he knew. Those booms ¡­ was it the eyescraper¡¯s tentacles breaking the sound barrier, or punching holes through the apartment building? Maybe both. It didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was that it was tearing the building in two with the ease of one parting curtains. Buildings were not designed to be parted. Two became legions as the sundered building collapsed. Norman rushed for an abandoned truck, slid beneath the trailer. Not quite fast enough. Most of the rubble didn¡¯t reach him directly, but upon hitting the ground? It pulverised into a blast of cloud like a sandstorm. Hissing beneath the trailer, the dust stung at his ankles. He ignored it, racing for the truck¡¯s cabin at the front. Perched on the step beneath the door, he braced as the dust raced beneath, around and above him. The cabin was his shield. He flinched to a duck when its windows shattered as the dust cloud blasted straight through them. The truck rocked and slid slightly, bombarded by wind and dust. It lurched as a chunk of debris finally reached it, crumpling the trailer like cheap foil. Time to move. Particles prickled Norman¡¯s eyes, finding their way through the nightsight. He took a fresh glimpse of the path ahead before clouds of grey engulfed it all. Memorised. He dashed on. A split second later, the cabin was levelled under a larger slab of concrete. More sporadically thundered down around him. His eyes were squeezed shut, denying entry to any more particles. He scrambled through the street, dodging obstacles from memory. As for the concrete rainfall that couldn¡¯t be seen? He had some prayers about that, but it probably came out like half-baked gibberish. Norman chanced opening his eyes. They watered like crazy. At least most of the dust was gone. Behind him, the eyescraper¡¯s menacing silhouette was picking through the rubble. Finally, an unblocked street was in sight. He rounded the corner. . ¡°??????????G??????????O??????????O??????????????????M????????????????M???????????M????????????!??????????????????????!???????????!?????????¡±?????????????? . Another peeping building, rumbling in from the new street. Alright. Straight it was. . ¡°????????G?????????????M??????????????????????M???????????O??????????????O?????????????????M?????????????????????M??????????????!???????????????!?????????????????!??????????¡±???????? . Maybe not. A third building emerged from the rainfall ahead. All streets blocked. He glanced about. All alleys still blocked. This really was a hunting net, but this much energy for a tiny human? Predators weren¡¯t usually like this. He ran for the nearest building that wasn¡¯t occupied by eldritch calamari. *( ( BOOMM! ) )* The eyescraper¡¯s tentacle crossed his path. Its supersonic shockwave sent him flying. . . . . . . . . . . . Norman came to. Rain poured against his face as he lay on his back. How long was he out? Why was it so cold? The atmosphere didn¡¯t quite feel right. It didn¡¯t look right either. Something about the colours, or subtle lack thereof. Everything seemed a bit desaturated. Norman sat up and coughed his lungs out, evicting a mix of dust and rain water collected in his slackly gaping mouth. Buildings towered above him on every side, a bit too close for comfort. . ¡°?????????????G????????M??????????????M?????????????G????????????M???????????!?????????!???????!??????????¡±????????????? . Oh, right, those weren¡¯t just buildings. Norman raised a finger, gesturing to wait. ¡°Could you *kaff!* quit subwoofin¡¯ at me for, like, ten seconds!¡± ¡°Plucky.???? for all seasons I .?????see,¡± came a skin-crawling voice from behind him. Norman swung back his smitelight. It barely moved half a foot, then it stopped. Rather, something stopped it. That ¡®something¡¯ was cold. So cold. His wrist felt the chill without even touching it. Norman turned, slowly, so as not to trigger further attacks. He found himself looking up. Eight feet tall. Dark grey skin. A grin that went a little too wide. Dagger teeth. An open-chested jacket, revealing sinewy muscles with luminous markings like tattoos. His ebony eyes bore penetrating white pupils. Of all his traits, the dreadlocks stood out most. They belonged in a nightmare, dancing through the air with a life of their own. Somehow, they looked blacker than black, absorbing every ray of light or heat that came their way. That icy chill in the air shifted with the movements of his dreadlocks. They seemed to drink life from the air itself. Norman almost found it hard to breathe. One dreadlock clutched Norman¡¯s smitelight, only by the tip, but its grip was iron. Norman stared the tall man down. The nyctal¡¯s grin grew by a smidgeon. Taking a calculated risk, Norman released the smitelight. Perhaps a peace offering would do good. ¡°Good.?????? boy,¡± the tall man nodded, admiring the smitelight as the dreadlock rotated it. ¡°Clever.????????? toy.¡± Norman noted an understated Jamaican accent in his voice. More dreadlocks slithered across the smitelight, as if tasting its every nook and cranny. Norman did his best to look casual as he scanned for an escape route. The eyescraper¡¯s tentacles had wrapped around the street, fencing him in. ___CHAT Norman looked at the tall nyctal again. ___CHAT The nyctal¡¯s eyes shifted to Norman inquisitively. He frowned, raising an eyebrow as the comments piled up. Finally, he smirked mischievously. ¡°Your fanbase has peculiar tastes,¡± purred the tall man. ___CHAT The tall man handed Norman his smitelight. Norman¡¯s suspicious gaze flicked between the nyctal and the weapon. Finally, he reached out and took hold of the smitelight. It crumbled in his fingers like ice-cold ashes. If not for the insulation gloves, he might have gotten frostbite. The nyctal laughed. Norman didn¡¯t find it particularly amusing. The tall man sauntered towards the eyescraper. Beyond it was a darkness even the nightsight had difficulty piercing. He beckoned Norman as if it were an afterthought. ¡°Please come in, .??????Norman.???????,¡± the nyctal instructed. Norman stared stubbornly, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. He felt for his smartphone. It wasn¡¯t there. When had he lost it? Without looking back, the nyctal held up Norman¡¯s phone. It disintegrated between his fingers as he rubbed them together. Norman glared. At least the guy hadn¡¯t pickpocketed deeply enough to find other things. ¡°Hey. To whom do I owe the ¡­ pleasure?¡± Norman almost had to push the last word through his teeth. The nyctal stopped in the eyescraper¡¯s doorframe. Shrouded in shadow, little could be seen of him, save the piercing white pupils peering out. Then the glint of his Cheshire grin. ¡°.???????????John Crow.????????,¡± he answered, before receding into the darkness. The eyescraper¡¯s tentacles dragged in across the street, corralling Norman towards the building. With an exasperated groan, he trudged towards the main entrance. ¡°I want my bed,¡± grumbled Norman. Part 14 - Sleeping Giant Beatrice Barton, A.K.A. ¡®Momma Bar¡¯. She prided herself on her image as strict but warmly motherly figure. However, as far as prime ministers went, Beatrice was built different. She was the only woman Amy knew who was more physically imposing than her mother. Beatrice often boasted of her time in the army. She had more than enough bulk to prove it. Amy recalled when the parliament was in uproar over one of Beatrice¡¯s more controversial moves. Sure, Sargasa was a colony of Barbados, but she tended to step in and yank the chain of command from its government at any given time. ¡°Thoughtless, shameless and overbearing!¡± That¡¯s what the Sargasan president called it. For a while, the woman sat quietly, taking in the criticism with indifference. Finally, she got up, calmly walked to the main entrance and locked the door. Flabbergasted into silence, most of the other politicians didn¡¯t know how to react. Those who did tested the other exits and realised they too were locked. Standing before them all, Beatrice cracked her girthy neck and gargantuan knuckles. Then came her iconic bellow. ¡°WE GINE DO THIS LIKE BRITISH!¡± Officially, what happened next was only hearsay. She claimed Sargasa had its first bout of legislative violence: a total free for all. Tensions were high and one thing led to another. She firmly believed the Sargasan government was better than this, quick to learn from its mistakes and move on. Most importantly, it would never. Happen. Again. She said it while smiling, while being the only politician without a single bruise. The others weren¡¯t so lucky. Broken bones abounded. The president was little more than a cocoon of casts propped up in the hospital. It looked like someone would need to step in and pick up the slack! She was willing to make the sacrifice. Weeks later, a viral video surfaced. Supposedly, it was footage of The Incident, captured on a smartphone. Making heads or tails of the chaos was difficult. The feminine form at the forefront of it all moved too fast. Bodies went flying as she bowled through several people at a time. The camera couldn¡¯t keep up, but it caught the moment when the president was yeeted across the room from offscreen. Then a massive, meaty hand reached for the phone. The video ended there. When asked to comment, Beatrice chuckled. It was an amusing little CGI animation, she claimed. No one could move that fast, or hurl people across a room. That was long before The Night Shift, after all. Reporters interviewed the only politician with a crushed hand, conspicuously missing his smartphone. His silence was loud. It¡¯d take a crowbar to pry open his lips. Calling Beatrice queen of the girl bosses would be an insult. She was no mere ¡®girl¡¯. That¡¯s how Amy once saw it, but Amy¡¯s perspective had shifted since then. Now? Beatrice Barton was on her phone screen, staring her in the face. Or ¡­ was she? A glance confirmed that the camera was on. Yup. Amy explicitly remembered turning it off before answering the call. Somehow, that hadn¡¯t made a difference. Eyes wide, stock still, Amy stared back at Beatrice. She felt small. Ironic, since she was bigger than a house. ¡°GMM!!!¡± In the distance, Amy heard the hunting cries of what sounded like an eyescraper. Ordinarily, she¡¯d rush out there to deal with the pest, but the person before her riveted all attention. Beatrice frowned. ¡°Sweetheart, I can¡¯t see your face.¡± ¡°P-pardon me?¡± Amy stammered. Wasn¡¯t the camera on? Oh, right ¡­ another glance revealed that although she did show up in the tiny corner screen, her features were blurred. It was that passive ability to mess up footage of herself. Amy mostly used it so that her mother couldn¡¯t identify her on the news. Oftentimes, it was a nervous reflex. She almost always used it in public ¡­ and near open windows. How did Beatrice even know she could turn it off? What else did Beatrice know? Had she found out what Amy did to the agents? The Prime Minister frowned. She was growing impatient. Amy dropped the self-censorship filter. Her hair tendrils wrung each other nervously. Beatrice scrutinised her for a moment. ¡°Hm. You¡¯re very pretty.¡± ¡°Oh, um ¡­ thank you, Honourable Beatrice Barton,¡± Amy replied. Beatrice had a way of saying things. It was the holy grail of political charisma. Amy felt compelled to drink up the complement. It was a far cry from the constant suspicion and discrimination of being a monster. However, Amy was well aware of ¡®Momma Bar¡¯s Honey¡¯. Sometimes, it came before ¡®The Bar Trap¡¯. ¡°Please, call me Beatrice ¡­ or Momma Bar. Whichever suits you,¡± Beatrice chuckled. ¡°I must say, I¡¯m impressed with your work. Single-handedly taking on the night, despite rampant ingratitude? You could be alone, despised by everyone, and you¡¯ll still do the right thing. It¡¯s a testament of what a strong woman can be. I suspect we may have a new national hero in the near future, because frankly, you are mine.¡± Amy swallowed her giddiness. ¡°Wow, I ¡­ appreciate that, but I don¡¯t need any special recognition.¡± ¡°I admire your humility, but this isn¡¯t a matter of ego,¡± stated Beatrice. ¡°There are many who still don¡¯t know what you do for them. You don¡¯t deserve to walk the streets under verbal assault born of ignorance. It¡¯s time for people to learn the truth. In light of recent incidents, your P.R. could use some help.¡± Amy had a sinking feeling. ¡°What incidents?¡± Rather than answering, Beatrice sent a slideshow of images across the screen. Amy perused them with confusion. Then her tendrils stopped moving. The rosy avatar paled close to white. Disgust and horror plastered on her face. Tears fell. Beatrice studied her every reaction intensely. The slideshow ended, but Amy¡¯s glazed eyes remained. The pounding in her chest and rapid breaths slowly subsided, even if she didn¡¯t have a heart or functional lungs. ¡°What ¡­ was that?¡± Amy asked, her voice ragged and small. ¡°You should recognise the signs,¡± Beatrice stated. ¡°It¡¯s the work of an A.M.E.¡± ¡°A.M.E.s don¡¯t operate like this,¡± Amy argued. ¡°Th-they¡¯re efficient, but not smart. This was a systematic massacre ...¡± ¡°Precisely,¡± Beatrice declared with the air of a ¡®gotcha¡¯. ¡°No one even saw this A.M.E. before it struck. You¡¯re the only one capable of this.¡± Amy quailed. ¡°I ¡­ I would never-! Th-that¡¯s not my colour!¡± ¡°The public doesn¡¯t know that,¡± Beatrice stated. ¡°You just demonstrated the ability to change colour too, and that hunger of yours ... We¡¯re keeping this under wraps. My agents are investigating the matter. Speaking of my agents ¡­ well, never mind for now. In the meantime, why don¡¯t you collaborate with us? Prove that you¡¯re on Sargasa¡¯s side. With our intel and your capabilities, we could do a lot of good. We could find the monster responsible.¡± Amy was still reeling. The Prime Minister had handed her a lifeline: the only lifeline. She raised her chin in the beginning of a nod. ¡°Classic Bar Trap,¡± Pseudo Mom declared, stepping into view with her arms folded. ¡°Create a scenario in which there¡¯s no way forward except your outstretched hand. Assuming those images were genuine, it truly is a tragedy, but you will not weaponise them to bring my daughter into your orbit.¡± Beatrice blinked, staring down the new arrival. A shadow of a smile twitched at her lips. ¡°Amy ¡­ did you assimilate your mother?¡± she asked. Amy paled again. ¡°No! She¡¯s just a figment, like an imaginary friend! That¡¯s something I can do now!¡± ¡°A.M.E.s aren¡¯t known to do that,¡± Beatrice calmly countered. ¡°They mimic their victims.¡± ¡°But my mother¡¯s not even in the city!¡± Amy reasoned.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Beatrice raised a finger. ¡°Ah, but how can we know for certain? She¡¯s made multiple declarations of intent on social media to find a way through the quarantine dome. What¡¯s to say she didn¡¯t somehow succeed, and your instincts ran their course? After all, A.M.E.s target the loved ones of their victims. We must check on her whereabouts. If she cannot be found in the outside world, well ¡­¡± It wasn¡¯t blatant, but Amy saw the signs. Beatrice was practically drooling. She had her. The world seemed to slow as Amy¡¯s mind accelerated. She spawned an avatar outside. Rain, falling in slow motion ¡­ she¡¯d never seen that before. Individual raindrops were clearly visible. They weren¡¯t shaped like tears, but glassy little spheres. She didn¡¯t have time to marvel, though. In the garden, she found The Predator sitting under the flamboyant tree, sulking. Its hair tentacles hung limply, drenched and dripping. The sight brought to mind a puppy in the rain. Amy almost felt bad for her. ¡°Help me, you filthy animal!¡± demanded Amy. Not bad enough, apparently. ¡°Beatrice Barton¡¯s threatening Mom! Closing the ¡®Bar Trap¡¯ on me ¡­ o-on us!¡± Amy explained. A smile slinked across The Predator¡¯s face. ¡°Well, well, well, look whose come crawling back. I¡¯d rather watch you stew in your own juice.¡± ¡°Grrrrrr, OM NOM!¡± blurted an agitated Amy. The Predator raised an eyebrow. ¡°Excuse you?¡± Amy grappled The Predator. Her hair engulfed its head in a feeding frenzy. ¡°OM NOM-NOM-NOM!¡± With its head gone, Amy squeezed what remained of its body into herself. They became one. Amy paused for a milli-second to think about what she¡¯d done. Was it necessary? Not really. Subsuming The Predator was like swallowing her own saliva. Why was she so weird? Oh well. The deed was done. Inside the house, Amy¡¯s panic drained away. Old thought processes geared up like the engines of a great, terrible machine. It felt good to be back. So, so good. She knew what she had to do. First, she set the conversation to ¡®save¡¯. Beatrice sensed the change. She looked Amy up and down as though trying to spot what had happened. The woman wouldn¡¯t find it until too late. One of Amy¡¯s tentacles slithered under the phone, seeking out any anomalies. It found a dedicated surveillance program and deleted it. Then it sifted through other apps, shutting down functions that could be used to spy. Her aerosol constructed several optical organs outside, monitoring the area omnidirectionally. ¡°I understand what you¡¯re trying to do,¡± Amy declared coolly. ¡°Projecting the illusion of control is a big deal, especially now. The eyes of the Caribbean are upon you. What would they do to you if you bungled this debacle? You can¡¯t have someone like me running around without a leash, but honey, trust me, sometimes it¡¯s best to let sleeping giants lie.¡± Now, it was Beatrice who paled: quite a feat, with her dark complexion. Amy soaked it up: the sweet smell of fear. To think, she¡¯d made Momma Bar balk. It was a delicious thought. Beatrice gave an inconspicuous nod to someone offscreen. Amy sensed a hidden program come to life. It tried to delete the conversation and wipe the phone. Her hair tendril snatched it out of the software. Several viruses leapt through her data to fulfil the same purpose. She snapped them up too. It was a good thing she¡¯d consumed some memories with software expertise. When the phone didn¡¯t die, Beatrice¡¯s eyes bulged. She fumed. Amy chuckled. Her optical organs picked up something incoming, fast. The biomass atmosphere caught it like a net. It seeped inside to touch and taste the payload. Oh, how interesting. She floated the object in through the window: a half-a-metre missile once aimed at her room. The thing would have flown right in. Amy spotted the drone plane that launched it. Time to retort. Aerosol biomass condensed to a node, which blossomed into a solid construct. Neon arteries, organs and a structural shell came together to form the sleek, long object. It could be taken for an exotically complex floral bulb the size of two cars. Gill-like structures on its underside sucked and compressed air. As it floated above the house, tracing the plane¡¯s path, its purpose became clear. A big gun. A pressurised blast of air tore from its muzzle. The rain scattered behind it as it ejected a wider, backwards blast to remain in place. The atmospheric round ripped through the sky with a thunderous roar. Bullseye. It crashed through the drone. A wing flew off. Down came the multi-million dollar aircraft in a ball of fire. If she¡¯d estimated correctly, no one really lived at the crash site. Amy returned her attention to the missile. Her aerokinesis carried it into her hands. Amy ran her claws along it. ¡°Apologies for the distraction. Some idiot was lobbing firecrackers.¡± Beatrice smirked. The missile detonated. The blast stopped, a broiling ball of dull, sickly moon-yellow. It hovered over her claws, bubbling and surging against aerotelekinesis. It wasn¡¯t easy to hold it at bay and look like she wasn¡¯t even trying. Her entire biomass clenched to get the job done. There were better ways to contain the blast, but it was as she¡¯d said: the illusion of control was important. It had to seem like no big deal. Amy looked oh so smug about herself. Beatrice looked about ready to scream. Ordinarily, the flash of an explosive might have messed her up. Luckily, it didn¡¯t blow up as brightly as a regular bomb. It was a ¡®dim bomb,¡¯ a biochemical explosive no doubt harvested from certain nyctals. Had it destroyed her house, it would look like a monster attack. The missile was launched at her phone, though. It¡¯s trajectory was surprisingly accurate. The goal was to destroy the evidence. They weren¡¯t trying to kill her. Yet. Amy caressed the blast. There was a child-like part of her that gawked at the deed. She was touching an explosion! Alright, enough fun. Amy gripped it with both hands and squeezed. Her aerotelekinesis strained and compressed the blast into an angry ball the size of an apple. Hmm ¡­ there was an idea! Amy moved it to her mouth, suppressing second thoughts. She bit into it. The taste was like the smell of toe jam. Amy pretended not to notice. Her aerosol smothered and absorbed the explosive energy as she chewed. Once it was inert, she absorbed the residual chemicals. Amy polished it off, dusted her claws and beamed at Beatrice. How boring. The Prime Minister had reigned in her emotions, feigning deadpan unamusement. ¡°Let me be perfectly clear,¡± Beatrice declared. ¡°You assaulted agents. You stole confidential information, and shot down a 15-million-dollar aircraft. Any one of those is enough to bury you, and here you are, doing parlour tricks.¡± Amy blinked innocently. ¡°Agents? You mean dem fellas I caught snooping on my property? Oh, I had to know who they were, so I rifled through their memories. It turns out that one of them knew a little too much. You should handle your secrets more carefully.¡± ¡°Which is why you consumed him,¡± stated Beatrice. ¡°Quit jumping to conclusions. He¡¯s safe. From you,¡± Amy chirped. ¡°The last time we chatted, he had a nice little dead man¡¯s switch. Touch him, me, or my loved ones, and everyone finds out what you did to this country.¡± Beatrice¡¯s face wrinkled. ¡°Loved ones? Is that what they are to you?¡± ¡°GMMGM!!!¡± That eyescraper in the distance again. With The Predator¡¯s mental clarity, Amy had some breathing room to actually think about it. Maybe she should call Norman, check on him. She moved a claw to hang up. ¡°Don¡¯t. You. Dare,¡± growled Beatrice. Amy giggled. How on Earth did that woman know she was going to hang up? Hidden cameras, probably. Her biomass swept the room, finding and crushing them. Beatrice went off on a tangent. Threats, ultimatums, the whole shebang. Amy was only half paying attention. She thought back a bit. ¡®Loved ones¡¯? In this state of mind, did she really love Norman? Well, he was attractive. Moreover, he was fascinating. Irresistibly fascinating. In a world of chess pieces, Norman was the only one that moved on its own, that could disappear and reappear behind her. Instead of a back stab, he¡¯d tap her on the shoulder and say: ¡°Hey. What are you doing? Stap.¡± If that didn¡¯t work, he¡¯d move her. He didn¡¯t let go his morals to match her wits. Somehow, that didn¡¯t make him weak or stupid. She could bare her fangs, dripping saliva and viscera. He¡¯d still boop her on the nose. Irresistible. She wanted to see what he could do, how far he could go. If anything happened to him, ¡®anything¡¯ would be in for a bad day. He was hers. Did that mean she felt warm and fuzzy about him? No. Would she cry for him? No. Not in this state. In other words, she¡¯d made no progress at all. Amy pushed a little affection into her thoughts about Norman. She smiled fondly. Love was a doing word. She loved him because she chose to love him. It was easy to forget: Beatrice was still talking. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Were you saying something, Honey Bar?¡± Amy interrupted far too casually. Beatrice looked as though she¡¯d reach through the screen and throttle Amy. Then an aide whispered something into her ear. Her anger evaporated. She actually seemed pleased. Amy didn¡¯t like that. Beatrice appraised her. ¡°Look at you, back chatting Momma Bar. Word of advice: if you want to run with the big dogs, work your way up. Start small, like managing your boyfriend a bit better.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t need managing,¡± Amy dismissed. Her expression remained indifferent, but her hue deepened from raspberry to blood-red. Her coloured atmosphere reflected the change. Predatory pupils appeared in her eyes. Hair tentacles curved around the phone like jaws poised to close in. The video feed warped and flickered ominously as Amy¡¯s tentacles nipped at the signal. Beatrice ignored it. In fact, it made her look and sound all the more m?????e????n???ac??????in???g. ¡°Rea????????lly? Then where is he no?????????w?¡± Beatrice leant forward. ¡°Why didn¡¯t he call you? Do you think you will see??? him again? It¡¯s a dangerous cit-¡±" Amy hung up. She shot through the window. The house shook, almost imploded. Loose objects flew about inside it as she dragged her biomass from within. Gale-force wind battered the garden. Up into the sky she flew, scanning the city. The rain limited visibility. Her biomass configured massive, sensory organs like spiraling satellite dishes decked with eyes. They pierced the downpour, seeing and listening. She noticed several peeping buildings and eyescrapers on the move. They appeared to be coordinated. Landlords. Amy picked the largest, leading building and zoomed towards it. She moved through the streets like a ravening storm. Cars overturned and tumbled. Streetlights surged and exploded as she yanked away their energy. Vicious nyctals saw her coming, cowered, fled and hid. She wasn¡¯t there for them. Not yet. Like a crimson star burning through the night, she blazed forth at the forefront of her biomass. At a distance, her atmosphere¡¯s outline could be seen. No longer was it a mere amorphous aerosol. It swam through the air like a jellyfish. Ethereal tentacles the size of streets wedged between buildings to pull it forward faster. Then her biomass thinned. Her winds died down. She melded with the night. Amid the cloak of heavy rain, she was a nearly imperceptible presence. They would never see her coming. Part 15 - J??????o????????h?????n?????? ??????C??????r??????o?????w????? Norman was intimately familiar with the dark. He¡¯d run and battled his way home beneath moonless skies shrouded by clouds more times than he could ¡­ okay, no, he could count them. Sometimes, his oxygen-drunk brain¡¯s photographic memory turned him square. In any event, within the eyescraper was a darkness he had never known. It was cold, heavy, almost thick enough to touch, taste and smell. Well, maybe the smell had something to do with walking through the humid innards of an eyescraper. The air almost felt like liquid. The worst part? He knew what the dark was. He knew there was no escape. However, he also knew what a human was. They created possibilities where there were none. If there wasn¡¯t a way out, he¡¯d make one ¡­ and maybe get a few licks into the ¡®rasta vampire¡¯ who wrecked his smitelight. Speaking of which, where was that guy? John Crow might be right there, sneering over his shoulder. Or not. In this kind of darkness, who could know? Nonetheless, being unable to locate his eldritch tour guide give Norman the chance to examine his surroundings. The nightsight didn¡¯t need much. Just starlight, or maybe ambient luminosity from brighter regions of the city in the distance. It could even pick up moonlight filtered through the clouds, but in here? He could see maybe a few feet of shadowy shapes before the void claimed all. Infrared and other exotic settings didn¡¯t fare much better. There was a way to get more light, but Norman was saving that, just in case. It wouldn¡¯t do to trigger an attack from whatever lurked in the dark when he wasn¡¯t ready to hit back. With his backpack snatched away by unseen forces the moment he entered the building, his options were limited. Norman looked down. Even through his shoes, the ground had felt soft ¡­ no ¡­ squishy. At first glance, it seemed he was standing on a twist carpet. Upon closer inspection, there were no, thick, twisting strings of shaggy fluff. Instead? Villi. Maybe not quite, but they sure looked like villi. The finger-like protrusions of flesh wiggled at his shoes as though tasting them. He wondered what would happen if he wasn¡¯t wearing prowlers. Norman caught movement at the side of his eye. He turned to look, not too quickly, not too slowly. The vaguest silhouettes stood before what vaguely appeared to be a window. At least he could see that much now. Stubby silhouettes, like The Neighbourhood Watchman. Not as stocky, but strong enough to pinch a penny in half between their greedy, grubby fingers. They seemed to be staring at him, talking amongst themselves, but he couldn¡¯t hear them. It appeared that they could see him. His nightsight was supposed to be better than nyctal vision. Maybe the darkness he experienced was specifically for him, like a one-way mirror. Wait, they were pointing. Based on the rhythmic movement of their torsos ¡­ were they laughing at him!?! Okay, it was officially Amy Time, except Norman had already tried to message her a dozen times. With tech like the nightsight? Of course he¡¯d give it smartphone capabilities. In fact, its O.S. was based on open-source code from Golden Apple¡¯s earlier days, adapted and updated with his own personal software. Only, it wasn¡¯t working. __CHAT Norman grimaced. Why did that troll of all people have to share his thought process? __CHAT Norman didn¡¯t spare that girl the dignity of a reply. Also, who knew what would happen if he opened his mouth here? He didn¡¯t really have to. The nightsight would interpret what he wanted to say. He could answer her ¡­ but he wouldn¡¯t. He was sassy like that. __CHAT Norman grinned. How astute! __CHAT Something plucked Norman¡¯s nightsight from his face, demoting him from mostly blind to completely blind. Finally, a new sound reached the edge of his hearing: the laughter of landlords. Norman resisted the urge to throw hands like a brute. All that would do was get him punching air, only to fall on his behind and possibly get digested by the twisted carpet. He could play his cards early, but what would that get him? That escape plan was still pending. And now, there was something panting up behind him like a mutt. *HUFF! HUNPH! HUMPH!* Okay, time to hustle. Quick, shuffling steps carried him forward, not so fast as to crash into something, and not so slow as to get caught by whatever sloppy beast- oh, who was he kidding? That thing could probably outrun a man on the best of days. It was possible to trip and fall at a slow speed anyway. He could very clearly hear the laughter now. It had gotten louder. Norman bit back his primal thirst for sweet vindication as he hustled a little faster. The pants continued to close in. He spotted sinuous lights slithering through the dark on what appeared to be a tall humanoid figure. They looked like the bioluminescent tattoo-type markings on John Crow. Norman sprinted towards them. He''d pick Mr. Affably Evil over whatever was breathing down his neck any day. The panting thing accelerated. A pale, hazy aura silhouetted John Crows massive dreadlocks. They spread out like the tentacles of an eldritch beast poised to pounce. Somehow, even in the dark, Norman saw his razor-toothed grin and the beady whites of his eyes. John Crow¡¯s dreadlocks sprang forth, racing past Norman and chilling the air around him. Norman heard an anguished wail as they struck the creature behind him. Its heavy form collapsed into the twisted carpet with a squelch. Norman slipped into the small, ill-shaped room beside John Crow. Those dreadlocks cast only enough light for him to do that. The jerk, making him eat out of his hands! Norman dug his fists deep into his pockets, grumbling grumpy nothings. John Crow let loose an ugly laugh. ¡°.???????Apologies for the theatrics, Norman. That filthy beast was getting uppity anyway. Besides, Dread here likes dinner and a show ¡­ Hmm ¡­ he likes you as well..???????¡± An ice-cold dreadlock slithered across Norman¡¯s chin. He ignored it. ¡®Don¡¯t feed the trolls,¡¯ they always say. Norman gave him a once-over. The nyctal was wearing his nightsight now, for the lulz apparently. John Crow gestured. Norman recognised the hand movements as augmented reality commands. Somehow, John Crow knew how to turn down the nightsight¡¯s brightness so that the screen didn¡¯t aggravate his light sensitivity. He was probably tweaking it a bit more to his liking. Norman glanced about. He knew the room was small, but this was ridiculous. With that fleshy d¨¦cor, it could almost pass for an organ. He spotted evenly spaced tumours on the wall, with numbers on their surfaces. Was this an elevator? John Crow pressed the top floor button. It didn¡¯t click, but squished. Thick membranes like vocal cords closed at the entrance: what passed for a door. Thin flagella locked into pores on either side to seal it shut. Norman felt the elevator ascend with a wet, sucking noise. He didn¡¯t remember the landlords having this kind of stuff. ¡°.??????How do you like my inventions?.?????¡± asked John Crow. ¡°.????????You wouldn¡¯t believe how hard it is, getting this thing to grow an organic elevator. Grafting in the necessary organs was the trickiest part. You have it easy, working with rigid, inorganic materials that don¡¯t outgrow their designated slots, but hey, when in Rome? You craft as the Romans do.¡± So, this guy was an engineer too, on the borderline abominable end of the spectrum? Norman looked at him. Was that a flicker of kinship he felt between himself and the nyctal? Hard nope. He squashed that feeling like a bug. Then, Norman heard it. The sound seemed to come from a vibrating organ on the roof that reminded him of tripe, folded like the baleen of a whale. Hang on, was this supposed to be music? If he strained his ears, he could make out the iconic song. The voice was wrong, though, if that could even be called a ¡®voice¡¯. It sounded like it was sung by an otherworldly entity. John Crow confirmed the song¡¯s identity as he swayed to the the vibes, soaking them in with the utmost delight. ¡°.???????¡­ ¡®Cause every likkle thing, is gonna be alright,.??????¡± John Crow sang along. Norman side-eyed the guy. Was this for real? It seemed he¡¯d been on point about the Bob Marley wannabe comment. He had no words for this level of cringe. John Crow glanced at him and stiffened. The eldritch music-player stopped. Deathly cold crept into the air more than ever before. In the tense silence, the only sound was the sucking of the rising elevator. John Crow spoke, his voice low and lethal. ¡°.???.?????.?????Norman .?????..????? I understand that you are an uncultured swine.?????? However, this music is a gift from .????????.??????The Great One.???? You WILL pay him the appropriate respect.?????.?????.??????¡± Norman couldn¡¯t tell if ¡®The Great One¡¯ was Bob Marley or something else. Another question bubbled up. He shouldn¡¯t ask. His lips twitched. He absolutely shouldn¡¯t ask, but ohhhh his big mouth. The burgeoning force behind it couldn¡¯t be tamed. ¡°¡­ Or what?¡± he finally asked, simpering like a troll. John Crow¡¯s dreadlocks spread like serpents rearing to strike. . .................................. Five seconds later .................................. . ¡°¡®Cause every little thing, is gonna be alright,¡± Norman sang as he vibed to the beat with John Crow. The elevator door peeled itself open. At least the new room was slightly brighter than the last. He could vaguely make out pouring rain beyond the windows. Nevertheless, most of the room belonged to the shadows. Norman had the bare minimum light necessary to see where he was going, and what, he presumed, John Crow wanted him to see. The tall nyctal sauntered up to an easy chair. Scaled to his size, it almost looked to be a throne. Norman wasn¡¯t surprised when it squirmed beneath his weight, because of course it was alive. John Crow reclined into it, frowning at his clawed feet. He clapped twice. A landlord skittered up to him and got down on hands and knees. John Crow sighed with relief as he rested his heels atop the landlord like a footstool. The smaller nyctal gnashed his teeth but, upon seeing Norman staring, he kept his displeasure to himself. Norman raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to John Crow. ¡°So, how¡¯d you get the landlords at your beck and call?¡± asked Norman. ¡°They¡¯re not big on outsiders.¡± John Crow shrugged. ¡°.?????They¡¯re desperate. Their pride is on life-support. This little guy was their head of security, but he didn¡¯t security hard enough, ain¡¯t that right boy?.???????¡± The sound of a landlord¡¯s teeth grinding filled the room. He muttered something about what he¡¯d do if he still had his key chain. John Crow¡¯s toe bent at an unnatural angle to tap him with a claw. The landlord got real quiet after that. ¡°.????Anyway, they hired me to pick up the slack..?????????¡± John Crow continued. ¡°Solve their problems for them. Their ¡­ .??????Amy-shaped problems..???????¡± Norman turned up his lip with the utmost disdain. There sat John Crow, stippling his fingers as though he were the Premier League of big bads. That ignoramus had no idea. Few people did. Perhaps it was a given. Despite Amy¡¯s public image as a ¡®monster¡¯, she didn¡¯t act in a way that would tip them off. Who could know the truth? What Amy was, what she had always been? Words burbled up inside Norman. His hand quavered. Impulse wrestled restraint. Impulse won. The hand rose. It stopped in line with John Crow. A finger stuck out, pointing at the nyctal. Norman had assessed the situation. This guy wanted him alive, for now. John Crow was a self-controlled nyctal, which meant this wouldn¡¯t be the death of him, probably. Norman¡¯s lips parted. It was too late now. ¡°You ignorant dumb dumb!¡± he blurted. Part 16 - Eat Crow ¡°You ignorant dumb dumb!¡± Norman blurted, pointing a brazen finger at his captor. John Crow raised an eyebrow. His dreadlocks angled towards Norman, attracted by his brash behaviour. Norman didn¡¯t flinch. John Crow chuckled and fanned away the hair tendrils. After knowing what he could do? People didn¡¯t usually talk to him like that, not even the proud and stubborn landlords. It was a foolish way to die fast. Was Norman a fool? Maybe. Maybe not. After all, he was still alive, wasn¡¯t he? Perhaps he had, somehow, gauged the chances that such disrespect would get him killed, and found them lacking. Human instincts were fascinating like that, after all. At the side of his eye, John Crow glanced at the chat on his pilfered nightsight. __CHAT He decided to ignore them, buncha weirdos. Meanwhile, Norman paced in little circles, rubbing his chin, clearly anxious. The worst part? The nyctal sensed that this nervous behaviour had nothing to do with his ability to instill terror. Norman took another look at John Crow, shook his head with abject disdain and continued pacing. After massaging his forehead, Norman turned to the nyctal. ¡°And you kidnapped Amy¡¯s boyfriend as bait?¡± John Crow shrugged a nod. Norman¡¯s face contorted with derision as he shook his head at the decision like a foul smell. He face-palmed and began to pace again. Not really knowing what was going on, the landlord beneath John Crow¡¯s heels began to chuckle. All that mattered was that his master was getting dissed by this boy! One of John Crow¡¯s dreadlocks flicked against the landlord¡¯s arm and he collapsed. It looked like an accident, but most definitely wasn¡¯t. The muscles twitched, nerves half-useless. ¡°.?????????¡®Ey, straighten up, will you?.??????????¡± ordered John Crow. The landlord felt the icy chill of more dreadlocks hovering close in the dark. He forced his limb back beneath him, pouring his fear and focus into keeping it there. Norman rubbed his hands together, inhaled and exhaled, as if trying to meditate away the ambient stupidity. ¡°Get on the ground. Now,¡± Norman ordered. ¡°.???????¡­ Excuse me?.????????¡± John Crow smirked. Norman pointed at the floor. ¡°Get down and beg. Then I¡¯ll know that you mean it so I can genuinely cry and beg on your behalf when Amy comes looking for blood.¡± John Crow scanned Norman¡¯s face. His dreadlocks licked at the air around the boy¡¯s head. He sensed no insincerity. Strange ¡­ ¡°.????????And you thought ¡­ what? Telling me that would compel me to comply?.?????????¡± leered the nyctal. ¡°.???Save some stupid for yourself, Norman..????????¡± ¡°Do you believe Hell exists?¡± Norman asked out of the blue. John Crow looked at him funny and scoffed. ¡°Right. Of course not,¡± Norman tutted. ¡°In your line of your line of work, you¡¯d like to think you die, and that¡¯s it. Quick or temporary pain, then nothing. Here¡¯s the thing: Amy knows that. She¡¯s not gonna make it quick. She¡¯s not gonna make it temporary. She is not gonna kill you. If you were some run-of-the-mill nyctal acting on impulse, she¡¯d just hand you over to the authorities, but that¡¯s not the impression I¡¯m getting here. You seem like the kind of bad guy who just keeps coming back. Amy won¡¯t let that happen. Remember, she¡¯s got the power of a mind-eater. She can browse your memories, find out what you love about yourself, and take it away; dig up your fears and bring them to life. She can make you forget that there was ever a time when you weren¡¯t living a nightmare. Amy doesn¡¯t kill villains. She breaks them, and takes their ability to rise again. If you don¡¯t fear Hell ¡­ all the better. She¡¯ll make you forget that you¡¯re still in the land of the living. Now. Beg. Like you mean it, while you still can.¡± John Crow waved a hand. ¡°.????????Pass. There¡¯s no way a straight lace like you would date someone like that. Besides, a good hostage goes a long way. You have given me some ideas, though. If you cooperate, maybe I won¡¯t kill the both of you. Maybe I¡¯ll get a little more creative..?????????¡± A slapping sound rang throughout the room. Norman had face-palmed again. John Crow snorted. ¡°.???Of all the ploys, hyping up that ditzy little twit? I¡¯ve seen the news like everyone else. Amy is a kitten in a lion¡¯s body, little more than a bumbling idiot. How she took control of an A.M.E. is beyond me..????????¡± Norman¡¯s fists balled, teeth gnashed. John Crow expected him to fly at him, or spout tidbits about why he was wrong. Possibly both. Both would be fun and fine. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re trying to make me tell you how she mastered the A.M.E.,¡± Norman deduced, his aggression draining. John Crow¡¯s dreadlocks briefly froze as his thoughts stumbled to a stop. ~.???????????¡­ How did he catch on so fast.???????~ Norman looked up at the dreadlocks as they slowly resumed their dance. He cracked a grin that made John Crow want to pluck out his teeth. ¡°Uh huh. Thought so,¡± concluded Norman. ¡°That thing on your head¡¯s not getting any smaller. I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s a baby, or maybe you stunted it. It¡¯s obviously not as powerful as Amy. Are you worried it¡¯ll bite off your head someday, or are you planning to merge with it? Become the new apex predator?¡± John Crow frowned. The chat reacted at the edge of his vision. __CHAT John Crow leaned back in his chair, taking the annoyances in stride. ¡°.?????????A.M.E.s are not what you think they are,.????????????¡± John Crow revealed. Norman raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. ¡°Really? What do you think I think they are?¡± John Crow tilted his head. ¡°.????????Mere monsters. Beasts..???????¡± Norman¡¯s brow wrinkled. A smile twitched at his lips before he guffawed. ¡°You think I¡¯d be this cozy with Amy if I thought she was in the body of some beast?¡± he asked. John Crow narrowed his gaze upon Norman, reevaluating him. ¡°.??????????¡­ You know the truth?.????????¡± asked John Crow. ¡°Maaaaaybe,¡± Norman simpered. An ice-cold touch brushed across his forehead. It nipped at his mind.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. He blacked out. Norman awoke on the ground in a cold sweat. Steadying his breathing, he looked up to see that John Crow hadn¡¯t shifted much. A contemplative silence had fallen upon the nyctal. The landlord¡¯s afflicted limb still quivered. If Norman had to guess, he¡¯d blacked out for only a few seconds, but it was impossible to know for certain. ¡°.?????????You only know in part,.??????????¡± John Crow stated. ¡°.????????How?.????????¡± It was strange, seeing Norman stagger to his feet like a borderline paralytic, yet the savage grin on his face told a different story. ¡°The same way I know you¡¯re gonna lose,¡± Norman growled. He glanced to the side. John Crow sensed a subtle change in the air. He had to know. A dreadlock writhed towards Norman¡¯s head. It smelt his brainwaves. The scent was off. Norman swatted away the dreadlock like a fly. The tall man was at a loss. Yes, that lock was only a fraction of Dread¡¯s power, but for a normal guy to smack it away? It was like casually trying to squish an ant with a pinky finger. Then the ant pushed back, and it won. Norman strode towards him, limbs twitching ever so slightly. It was not from fear. That was only the residual effects of the dreadlock on his nerves. John Crow¡¯s focus riveted upon him, neglecting whatever lurked in the air. Even seated, the nyctal was taller than Norman, but in John Crow¡¯s eyes? Norman looked big. How fascinating, thought the nyctal. ¡°Let me give you the bare minimum reason why you¡¯re gonna lose,¡± Norman began. ¡°It¡¯s the same reason why you¡¯ll never master an A.M.E. the way she does. You expect Amy to come at you, thinking in black, white and maybe greys, but that¡¯s not her ¡®normal¡¯. She thinks in infrared and ultraviolet: red-hot, radioactive, only visible when the damage is done. She forces herself into monochrome because it¡¯s the only way she knows how to be normal, but all she needs is a reason. You just gave her that reason. You kidnapped her boyfriend. The perfect hostage answers everything, right? No. She¡¯s not gonna beg. She won¡¯t negotiate. Play your cards very carefully, and don¡¯t ever let her see you lay a hand on me. I¡¯m going to tell you a secret, and you¡¯re going to call me a liar.¡± Norman leant forward. John Crow leant back. ¡°Amy¡¯s afraid of her own shadow,¡± Norman whispered. John Crow blinked. Norman¡¯s gaze was dead serious. The nyctal¡¯s bemusement turned to amusement. He huffed a laugh. ¡°.???????????Fear?.???????¡± John Crow jibed. ¡°.????That¡¯s the secret to mastering an A.M.E.? What a painfully clich¨¦ idea. You can¡¯t fearmonger a monster, Norman. Next time, come up with something more creative, assuming there will be a next-.??????¡± ¡°Not your shadow. Her shadow,¡± Norman interrupted. John Crow raised an eyebrow. ¡°Everyone''s got a shadow,¡± Norman mused. ¡°The ugliest, most unthinkable side of you that never sees the light of day. The Night Shift sets it free, but Amy? She hasn¡¯t changed at all. Ask yourself, why? It¡¯s ¡®cause this isn¡¯t new for her. Amy¡¯s laughed with it, played with it, lived in it. Her shadow¡¯s big enough to black out The Sun, and you know what? She decided it just wasn¡¯t worth it. ¡°So, she stutters. She shrinks back, second guesses herself to the point of self-sabotage. She acts like the nicest girl in the world, because she is ... but that''s just the way she tiptoes around herself. Amy¡¯d rather shoot her own foot before you even realise there''s a bullet. You''ll see her hopping around on one leg. You might even laugh, but you never see the bullet that was meant for you. She''ll let you think she''s a simpering wimp, because that''s the better option. ¡°Amy doesn''t have empathy. She chooses it, and she''s not faking. She jury rigs her personality through sheer force of will. Let that sink in. She¡¯s actually a genius, but her brilliance is black as midnight. What looks like incompetence is her way of aborting old thought processes before they surface. She''s teaching herself how to think all over again. Baby steps, but make no mistake: those old thought processes? They''re all on standby, waiting for someone like you to give them a reason. ¡°Tell me, Johnny, what does it take to override your own soul? Have you ever even tried? Amy did. She does it every day, and ohhh, I does love she baaad for it. Now you understand how she beat her A.M.E. into submission. It¡¯s not her first monster.¡± Norman paused, staring into the nyctal¡¯s eyes. John Crow considered tearing his mind out there and then, but those weird brainwaves were back. He could almost see the shadow. No, the light of something big looming behind Norman¡¯s mind. He had to rethink that. BIG ¡­ didn¡¯t begin to cut it. He felt them: eyes the size of worlds, bearing down upon him. He knew what an unholy presence felt like. He liked to think that he was one of them. This was Something Else, and it was far, far worse. He kept a straight face, but in the depths of himself he heard his soul scream. Was there something out there more horrifying than the forces behind The Night Shift? Was there something more terrible than a monster? John Crow felt his face twitch. A strange, white-hot terror seeped into his skull from the A.M.E. atop it. His eyes widened at a piercing sound. Was that Dread ¡­ screeching? Norman cracked a smirk. He chuckled, then clutched his stomach as a roaring belly laugh surged forth. John Crow¡¯s dreadlocks hissed a warning as his ego seethed, but there was another laugh behind Norman¡¯s. It sent shockwaves of searing terror through John Crow¡¯s being. Norman made as though to pat him on the shoulder. John Crow decided there and then that he would die if he actually did it. The hand landed, but he didn¡¯t move. Maybe he couldn¡¯t. His body shook with wrath. Norman sighed away the last of his mirth as he looked John Crow in the eye. Pity nuanced his features. ¡°You¡¯re not cut out for this,¡± Norman declared. ¡°No one is. Just stop. Walk away. Tell the landlords you quit. Maybe anyone can do what Amy does, if they try the right way. Give it a shot. If you need a little help, come find me. This might be your last chance.¡± Flabbergasted though he was, John Crow couldn¡¯t believe his ears. Finally, some bravado seeped back into his veins. That old, shark-like grin returned to his face as he gripped the hand on his shoulder and removed it, while squeezing. Ordinarily, he¡¯d feel a couple bones snap. None did, but Norman was bound to be in pain. Stubborn boy, refusing to scream. ¡°.??????Look at you, acting as though your words hold any power over your predicament,.????????¡± John Crow sneered. ¡°.??????????I always find a way to get what I want, and Amy? She¡¯s gonna find what¡¯s left of your body in a-.???????????¡± *BBBBMMMM!* John Crow¡¯s eyes popped. The air seemed come crashing in on him. His eardrums could survive the atmospheric shock of a grenade blast, but now? They almost ruptured. He pushed back. His darkness held it all at bay just long enough for him to grab Norman by the hair. He dangled the boy high like a ragdoll of a trophy. Dozens of claws receded into the shadows. They¡¯d almost reached him. Their owners peering back at him with piercing eyes. Somehow, they were darker than the shadows Dread spawned throughout the room. That was the only reason why he could vaguely see their silhouettes. They looked like Amy¡¯s avatars, but the vibe was several levels of wrong. How did she get this close? Wait ¡­ had Norman been distracting him the whole time? John Crow tightened his grip. Norman¡¯s hair tugged at the roots. It was a pity that the boy wasn¡¯t making those delicious, little whimpers. That would really sell it. Surely Norman could at least wiggle a little. Trust that boy to be a poor hostage. How John Crow would have loved to make him scream. He reached for Norman¡¯s throat. The enemy atmosphere bore down harder, forcing his focus back to keeping it away. Dread¡¯s power was almost completely occupied with the job. That couldn¡¯t be a coincidence. Why would his maximum just happen to be enough to hold her back? The answer was obvious. It wasn¡¯t. She hadn¡¯t overpowered him, because she wasn¡¯t trying. Maybe, just maybe, he could hurt Norman before she intervened. Naturally, she wouldn¡¯t want to take that chance. That didn¡¯t mean the odds were on his side, though. John Crow forced a grin. ¡°Pick your next move carefully, Amy. Maybe you¡¯re far stronger than I am. Maybe you can get to Norman before I punch a hole through his stomach, but are you willing to take the chance?¡± The shadow avatars didn¡¯t react. They barely glanced at Norman, beady eyes fixed on John Crow. The avatars exchanged hissing whispers. "Who is that?" "Familiar ..." "I know him." "YES." "John Crow." ¡°Elusive. Ruthless. High body count.¡± ¡°Hee hee, he¡¯s a mo??????nster!¡± "We fou?????nd you!" One by one, manic grins spread across the avatars¡¯ faces. Their predatory, hazy white teeth peppered the dark. The whispers slowly quickened and escalated to a frenzy. "You''re perfe??????ct!" "Thank you ... hee hee hee ¡­ Thank you!" "Wo??????nderful!" "I L????O????V???E????? ?????you." Oppressively warm, dim, blood-red light seeped in through the windows. It was worse than the dark. Outside, the wind picked up, but it didn¡¯t howl. It moaned. A flash of crimson lightning twisted from the sky. It stopped beyond the window, just bright enough to sting the skin of the average nyctal. Though mostly silent, its infrasonic boom shook the building. The eyescraper tilted, as though rearing like a horse. It bayed in distress. That lightning writhed and wrought into a humanoid form. There was Amy, floating almost motionlessly. Her face was gnarled in an open-mawed grin spread inhumanly wide. Meat-rending teeth glowed neon red. If not for the sanguine aura outlining her dark form, she might have faded into the background, save highlights such as her teeth, hair and slit eyes. Her pupils flickered and danced like mad little flames. Her form fluxed and vibrated, as though scarcely able to contain her deranged glee. __CHAT John Crow brandished his hostage a little higher. Never did Amy even acknowledge Norman¡¯s existence. Her wide, wild eyes remained upon John Crow. When she spoke, her lips didn¡¯t move. The sound came from everywhere at once. Every syllable sent visible ripples through the air. Low and booming, her voice was enough to shake bones. Thick with longing, it was nauseatingly sickening. ¡°?????J?????O???????H?????N???? ???????C????R??????O?????W????? .??????..???? I?????? ?????L???????O?????V??????E????? ??????Y??????O?????U?????.??????¡±??? Every window in the city block shattered. Part 17 - Ill Be Your Sun ¡°?????J?????O???????H?????N???? ???????C????R??????O?????W????? ?????... ?????I?????? ?????L???????O?????V??????E????? ??????Y??????O?????U?????.??????¡±??? Every window in the city block shattered under the sound of her voice. Amy¡¯s aerosol had turned the world red. It all trembled as though near to a furnace: an optical illusion, but no less unnerving. The atmosphere bore the metallic taste of blood. It was thick, borderline liquid. Plasma anomalies squirmed and curdled in the air. The sound they made ¡­ like thunder and laughter melded together in an eldritch melody that should never exist. She floated there like an apparition, drinking in John Crow¡¯s reaction. So far, his response was less than stellar. He knew it. She knew it. Here he was, the one with the hostage, yet he did little more than stare dumbly. John Crow realised he¡¯d taken a small step back. He kicked himself for it. This was NOT what he expected. Not even in the ballpark. His thoughts raced, crashed and burned. What in the-? How was he supposed to-? She LOVED him? ¡°¡®Cat meets mouse¡¯, ¡®foodie meets pizza¡¯: that kind of love,¡± Norman helpfully explained. John Crow frowned at the young man dangling in his grip. How irritating. ¡°Beg,¡± Norman asserted. John Crow almost rolled his eyes. He took a quick breath and eased it out, steadying his thoughts. He lowered Norman to the ground, but never let go of his hair. A calm smile graced his face as he met Amy¡¯s crazed gaze. ¡°.??????????????Quite the entrance, Amy, but you¡¯re laying it on a little thick!.????????¡± John Crow critiqued, raising his voice above the localised storm. ¡°.???????????You¡¯re not ¡­ whatever this is supposed to be. You¡¯re just a little girl, terrified of losing her boyfriend. You know what? Come inside. Let¡¯s talk. We both know that heroes don¡¯t-..???????????¡± ¡°???????H?????E??????R???O???????????????? ?????? ??????H?????e????e?????? ??????h??????e???????e?????? ???????H??????A??? ??????H?????A??????? ??????H????????A??????? ??????H????????A??????!????????¡±???? Amy¡¯s rancorous laugh shook his soul and the building. Her lips still weren¡¯t moving, but she spoke anyway. Malevolent amusement gleamed in her eyes. He really wished she¡¯d just shut up. As much as he knew her little act was not to be feared, his fight or flight instincts hadn¡¯t figured that out yet. John Crow¡¯s bioluminescent tattoos darkened: a reaction he couldn¡¯t fully control. It was meant to hide him from victims ¡­ and threats. Amy floated in slow, contemplative circles as she spoke, but her head rotated like an owl¡¯s so that her ghastly gaze and gruesome grin always faced him. ¡°???????????H???????E??????????R???R??????R??????O??????? ????????.????????.???.????????¡±????? ????????? she crooned deeply. ¡°???D???OE???S??? ???TH???A???T??? ???C???U???T???E??? ???L???ITT???L???E W???O???R???D??? ???MAK???E??? ???Y???O???U??? ???F???EE???L??? ???B???E???T???T???E???R???????" "I???T???''S??? ???F???U???N???N???Y??? ??? ???¡­???" "O???N???E??? ???M???A???N???''???S??? C???O???M???F???O???R???T??? ???I???S??? AN???O???T???H???E???R??? ???M???A???N???''???S??? ???N???I???G???H???T???M???A???RE???.???" "F???O???R??? O???R???D???I???N???A???R???Y??? F???O???LK???,??? ???T???H???E??? ???S???U???N??? ???I???S??? ???A??? ???C???O???M???F???O???R???T???.???" "F???O???R??? N???Y???C???T???A???L???S???, ???I???T???''???S??? ???A??? ???N???I???G???H???T???M???A???R???E???,???" "B???U???T??? T???O???N???I???G???H???T??? ???...?¡±??? A sharply tapered tongue slithered between her teeth as she licked her lips. Chuckles bubbled up from the blackest pits of her heart.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. "???I??????''?????LL???? ?????????B????E???? ??????Y???????O???????U????R????????? ??????S?????U???????N?????."???????? Chills ran down John Crow¡¯s spine. It almost sounded romantic, in the sickest way possible. John Crow clicked his tongue and held Norman to his shoulder like a buddy. More of body shield, obviously. Nonetheless, Norman repressed a smile. With the ever-present din of Amy¡¯s wind and thunder, he wasn¡¯t sure if his voice would carry far enough, but now? It was a done deal. ¡°.??????Norman, I don¡¯t believe Amy is taking your well-being very seriously!.????????¡± John Crow laughed, squeezing Norman just hard enough to hear the joints pop. ¡°.???????????????????Why don¡¯t you talk some sense into your girl?.????????¡± ¡°AC03,¡± Norman uttered. *fwee ...* *FFMM!* John Crow screamed as the nightsight blasted light into his face. It wasn¡¯t nearly as big as the smitelight¡¯s bursts, but at point blank? In the eyes? It was enough. His knee-jerk reaction was to fling Norman away like a stinging bug. Amy¡¯s shadow avatars caught him, billowing into industrial-strength foam that cushioned his collision with a wall. However, the danger was in the throw itself. Whiplash. His body was not built to accelerate dozens of miles in an instant. The avatars gently set him on the ground, where he lay limp. John Crow yanked off the nightsight, crushing it in panic. For the moment, he was blind. However, the Dread A.M.E.¡¯s sensory aerosol still gave him updates on his surroundings. One second, Amy¡¯s avatar wasn¡¯t right in front of him. Then, it was. She flicked him. John Crow came crashing out the other side of the building. He tumbled through the open air. Her avatar raced after him. It caught up in an instant. Red lightning outlined their silhouettes. His aerosol clung to him like a shadow, but it was only a big fish in her sea of red. He righted himself to face her. Their tentacled hair flared wide like the open jaws of beasts. John Crow¡¯s dreadlocks moved like spears. Her hair met them tip to tip. Red wrestled black. It looked like a deadlock. John Crow knew better. Already, his aerosol condensed around him. He pushed away from her. It didn¡¯t work. Her tendrils were firmly intertwined with his. Maybe that didn¡¯t matter. His exoskeleton was ready. The black bulk of churning, inky aerosol clung to his physique as though it were part of him. Dwarfing Amy¡¯s avatar, its predatory sneer matching her own and then some. Maybe he couldn¡¯t beat her biomass as a whole, but her puny avatar was a different story. The world blurred. Something shattered against John Crow¡¯s back. Rubble and innards splattered around him. The shock left him dazed. He watched as a peeping building howled its death cry before collapsing. A hole went straight through it. Had she just shoved him through one of his buildings? Amy rapped his chest with her knuckles. ¡°??????S?????TU?????R??????D???????Y????? ???????S????????T??????U??????F???????F??????.??????" "I ??????L??????O????????V??????E???????? ???????A?????? ???????T??????O??????Y?????? ????T?????H???????A?????????T??????? ?????C?????A?????N???????? ????????T??????A???????K????????E????? ???A??????-"??????? His tendrils yanked her close. With a fist the size of a basketball, he launched a blow that could split a bus. It hit only air. Aerosol armour blasted off of John Crow¡¯s fist, leaving it bare. What ¡­ what just happened? He didn¡¯t have time to ponder it, striking again to keep her off-balanced. This time, he saw her blur. Again, his fist¡¯s covering was obliterated. Explosive impacts tore armour from his shoulder, ribcage and stomach. Then she was in front of him again, beaming patiently as his mind struggled to catch up. He realised she¡¯d been punching him, so fast that that he could barely track the movements. Either his eyes were adjusting to her speed, or she was slowing down, just so he could see that she¡¯d moved. With that kind of speed, she could finish him in no time. That left one likely possibility. She was playing with him. Amy sensed his realisation. Her cackles filled the air, painful to the ear. A shadow of terror set in as he tried to wiggle out of her grip. "A????W?????WW????????,????????"????? ??????"???????D????O???????N??????''???????T??????? ?????Q??????U??????AIL????????? ?????O??????N???? ME????? ??????YE???????T????????, B?????????AB?????Y?????????,?????"??????? Amy rumbled, twirling him through the air like a dancing doll. ¡°???????????O???????U????????R????? N?????IG???????H????????T?????''S?????? S????T?????I?????L???????L?????? ???????Y?????O??????U?????N???????G???????????.?????¡±???????? ????????? Something pierced her biomass. Aerokinesis barely slowed it down. Too little, too late. It barreled into Amy at hypersonic speed. Her hair¡¯s grip was wrenched away from John Crow, but her claws had caught it in the nick of time. The momentum was tremendous. It shoved her avatar all the way to the opposite side of her biomass. Finally, she slowed it to a stop. Amy examined the chunk of metal that had hit her. It wasn¡¯t big, merely the size of a curled up human. She bounced it in her claws, testing the weight. It was heavier than it should be, like a car. Wait, was it a car? She peeled off the smooth, rubbery outer layer, presumably there for aerodynamics. Yes. It was a car. Something had compressed it into a dense projectile ¡­ ¡­ and it wasn¡¯t alone. Part 18 - Paint the Town Red Amy wove through a barrage of hypersonic projectiles. She felt them tear the air, their shockwaves screaming by. Her lenticular cloud skirt pumped hundreds of times per second like a jellyfish¡¯s bell, propelling her avatar through the sky even faster. Those giant bullets moved faster still, but a straight path was a straight path. They couldn¡¯t chase her down when she maneuvered. Kicking off blasts of her aerosol made for rapid changes in direction. She forged an organ gun to return fire. It got shot out of the air mid-formation. Alright. New tactic. Amy zipped to the streets where they¡¯d lose their line of sight. She stopped short. Something was down there. At first, she couldn¡¯t tell what they were. She could barely feel them. They should have tickled at least. Focusing on the sensation, she realised they were numbing her. Brainflies. Swarming rivers of the critters poured through the streets like rising waters, pumped from the bases of the eldritch buildings. She wouldn¡¯t function too well down there: a clever way to force her high into the air. Plan three. Amy zeroed in on John Crow as his aerosol drew him to the eyescraper¡¯s top floor. One of the building¡¯s tentacles whipped towards her faster than sound. Amy veered out of the way. Aerodynamic flaps snapped up along its length, steering it through the air. Organic jets spewed noxious fumes that pushed it forward and sideways ever faster. It had followed her. Everything seemed to slow as Amy¡¯s startled mind accelerated. That tentacle was in her face, eclipsing her vision. She noticed a lone, yellow pustule on its surface, inches from impact. "¡­??? ???????Hu?????h???????¡±???? Amy grunted. The tentacle struck. Its force alone could bring down a small building, but that was hardly the whole story. The pustule exploded. *THOOOM!* A bumpy bloom of repugnant, yellow gas billowed wide. Hot enough to cook a blue whale, it was a dim bomb. The tentacle flew back from the recoil of its own blast. Amy¡¯s avatar was no more. She spawned another one. A new, pustule-tipped tentacle reached her nearly instantly, propelled by the very chemicals that filled the dim bomb. This time, she was prepared. She threw up her claws, engulfing it in aerosol. The dim bomb went off. Aerokinesis warred against the chemical inferno. She pressed it back into the tentacle which writhed away, burning in its own secretions. The remaining blast washed over her nonetheless, throwing her back. This time, she remained intact. After all, this was a battle avatar. More tentacles pounced through the hot, chemical residue. She sensed no bumpy pustules. After a taste of their own medicine? Perhaps they¡¯d hesitate to detonate dim bombs. Fine by her. They converged upon the avatar. Her lengthy arms split into four and went ablur. *SSRRRRRMM!* Sound couldn¡¯t carry fast enough to encapsulate what she had done. The vicious details all came together in a homogenous blast.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Wounded tentacles flung apart from her in wild directions. One plunged deep into the street. Water erupted from asphalt as it struck a conduit. Webs of aerosol pinned in in place, anchoring the eyescraper. Another battered tentacle lopped off the top of a building, leaving its upper rooms bare. A third was shredded to ribbons, seemingly beyond repair, but these creatures were remarkable healers. They could semi-liquify their tissues and pump free-floating cells to the site of damage before solidifying whole again. The fact that some tentacles were still intact was a testament of hardiness she had never seen before. Given a little time, they¡¯d be close enough to good as new. Of course, she wasn¡¯t planning to be generous. Amy dashed for the top floor where John Crow¡¯s aerosol tucked him away. Hypersonic projectiles ripped through the air where she¡¯d once been. Her aerokinesis closed in on him. He slipped from its grip like a tiny fish through the claws of a grizzly. Since when was that possible? Oh well. She¡¯d manhandle him the old-fashioned way anyway. Amy slapped aside an eager tentacle that sped to meet her. It clearly learnt nothing from the fate of its peers. She felt the bump of a dim bomb¡¯s pustule on the opposite side of the tentacle. If it detonated, she¡¯d be mostly safe. There was a downside to supersonic tentacles weighing dozens of tons: Momentum. Strikes were fast, but their recovery for another blow was slow. Or so she thought. John Crow glanced back at her as she neared him. He cracked a toothy sneer. His dreadlock had slotted into the nervous tissue of a keyhole, usually used by landlords to control their buildings. The dim bomb of the tentacle she¡¯d slapped blew up. It was angled away from her. What was the point of-? Oh, wait ¡­ The backlash propelled the tentacle into her, slapping the avatar back. She reeled, fighting to right herself as she felt something else. The tentacle she¡¯d embedded in the street had blasted its way free, rearing high into the sky under the force of its dim bomb. Another blast and it crashed into her avatar, which went flying into the midst of three peeping buildings. She cratered into the ground. Brainflies hungrily surrounded the avatar, sapping its mental activity. She tried to rise. The peeping buildings pummeled her deeper into the dirt and concrete like a roach that absolutely had to die. ¡°GET OUT OF MY WAY!¡± boomed the landlord of a larger building through its organic sound-casters. Tipped with compressed vehicles, his main two tentacles were like mallets. He shoved away the other the other buildings, chipping at their structures before pounding the avatar with a vengeance. ¡°HEY AMY! REMEMBER ME?¡± he laughed. ¡°HOW¡¯S IT FEEL TO GET JUMPED? SPEAK UP, GURL! I CAN¡¯T HEAR YA! WHO¡¯S ALPHA NOW, HUH!? WHERE¡¯S THAT STUPID GRIN? SHOW ME DEM NASTY TEETH!¡± He spat on her: something ordinarily impossible for a building, but he¡¯d asked John Crow to install an organ for that purpose. The mercenary liked his spunk. Game recognised game. The organ in question spurted enough acidic mucus to bathe an elephant to the bone. John Crow giggled like a gremlin. For all the mockery she¡¯d put him through? Things were looking up! He fondly ran his claws along the folds of neurological matter on the walls. The room¡¯s nervous system buzzed to life on a new level. Forget keyholes. He was so much more than a landlord. His dreadlocks whipped out in all directions, integrating with the tissue. Meanwhile, the gentle, rosy light of Amy¡¯s lesser avatar fell upon Norman as she hovered over him. Her tendrils tasted his mental aura. The brainwaves were always kinda weird, but they suggested consciousness. However, he wasn¡¯t moving. She couldn¡¯t sense any pain. Her aerosol rippled over him, scanning for injuries as best it could. Was it safe to move him? She winced as her battle avatar took a blow that almost caved its head. Spawning another two would probably squad wipe these guys, but battle avatars took a lot of focus and her biomass did strange things when pushed too far too fast. Just holding it together under the onslaught demanded much of her attention. The rest was on Norman. She could be their punching bag for all she cared, so long as it kept the battle far away from Norman. The avatar attending him was lightweight: not made for epic conflicts. She hoped its electromagnetic signature was small enough to avoid enemy attention. ¡°¡­ Norman? You okay?¡± Amy asked tentatively. Though he remained face-planted on the ground, Norman raised a thumb. She giggled into a relieved sigh and lifted him to his feet aerokinetially. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡± Brainflies flooded the room. They came much faster than she¡¯d expected. Was the building releasing them internally? Amy¡¯s aerokinesis failed, dropping Norman. She moved to catch him, but her avatar disintegrated. He fell back on his face. At the top floor, John Crow¡¯s dreadlocks raised him to the centre of the massive room, finding leverage on all sides thanks to the fleshy walls. Brainflies spiraled around him like a whirlwind. He flexed his muscles as the power of a titan synced up with his psyche. Dread¡¯s aerosol hummed, harmonising with the signals dancing through the air. Now, he was prepared. His voice boomed from the eyescraper¡¯s sound projectors. ¡°????A????M????Y????!????"???? ?????"????LET????¡¯?????S????? ?????P????A????IN????T??? ???T????H?????E ????T????O????W????N??? ????R????ED???!?????¡±???? Part 19 - Mr. Brusque It was clever. A stroke of genius, even. Amy would have never thought someone would infest her atmosphere with millions of brainflies, nibbling at her mental energy. Her plasma anomalies were destroying them systematically. It was like an immune response, but there were so many. Death by a thousand cuts was probably the idea. Whoever came up with this deserved some very special attention. John Crow, probably. He¡¯d be getting it. Inside the eyescraper, her biomass had gone mostly numb thanks to the higher concentration of bugs. Spawning an avatar and generally doing anything near the building would be difficult. She wouldn¡¯t be getting Norman out of there so she could go nuclear on these guys. No yet, at least. Amy could vaguely perceive him if she focused. So, she reallocated some focus to the battle avatar¡¯s area of influence ¡­ unfortunately for the hapless sap happily hammering her into the ground. The peeping buildings around her had poured out brainflies that stuck close to them like a stench. That one guy assaulting her had deployed no such protection. Sucked to be him. Amy dislodged her head from the crater and looked up at him. With half her face missing, its inner workings were exposed. She didn¡¯t have a skeleton, or any other clearly defined structure. Being translucent, she should have had nothing to see in there, but for whatever reason? The exposed area was rife with swirling, squirming things.. Even at this distance, they tickled and prickled at his sanity. One spiral tightened, a beady red glow embedded in its core. It was where her eye would have been, had he not destroyed it. This ... no?????t eye??? burned it''s gaze deep into his psyche. He almost forgot about her predatory grin. He almost forgot about everything. Was this a defensive mechanism, or something worse? ¡°W-WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN¡¯ AT, GIRLIE?¡± he demanded, pushing through the effect. ¡°YOU WANNA TRY SEIN¡¯?¡± He pounded all the harder, smashing avatar and brainflies alike. Nonetheless, temperature dropped as she drew in energy. Never did she break eye contact with him. Her atmosphere hummed hauntingly. *wmm WMM WMM WMMM ¡­* ¡°M-Mr. Brusque! W-we¡¯re all supposed to deploy fly screens!¡± stammered a smaller building. Brusque took a swing at it, which was narrowly dodged. ¡°DON¡¯T NEED IT!¡± he raged. ¡°I¡¯M JUST ABOUT DONE WITH THIS LITTLE-!¡± Amy caught his hammer tentacle with brute strength and aerokinesis. Her eyes alit with delight. *WRRRRM!* Spiraling rings of red wrung their way up his tentacle. They mangled it. Mr. Brusque lurched back as she rose up. The atmospheric hum silenced for a moment. Then chaos took its throne. *Kaka-KOOOOOOOM!* *B-BOOOM!* *KA-KOOOM!* Ravening blasts of exotic lightning ravaged peeping buildings and cityscape alike. They came in a plethora of forms, from booming blooms to structures far more bizarre. Like otherworldly creatures chilling to the eye, their ferocious lifespans began and ended in a blazing flash. Amy floated in the midst of it all like an orchestrator of doom. The only thing louder than the thunder was was her laughter. John Crow drank in every detail of the bedlam as best he could. Her lightning wasn¡¯t nearly as bright as it could be, but for most nyctals? It was borderline agony. The snipers couldn¡¯t do much with the blinding light in their sights. She was operating beyond expected parameters. He had reason to believe she was just warming up, but this couldn¡¯t last forever. She had to take a breather sooner or later. Besides, he¡¯d overprepared. Brainflies fried by the tens of thousands as her eldritch lightning crashed across the peeping buildings¡¯ insect shields. Even their lightning rods melted like mercury. The battered buildings burned, billowing black smoke. Atmospheric anomalies sucked up the fires, recycling the energy. The Earth shook under her power.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Mr. Brusque had enough. He pushed his building forth, powering through her lightning. Flames engulfed its exterior, but he kept going. The burning building was a menace to behold. He raised one of the remaining hammer tentacles. Something felt lighter. The tentacle should have swung, but he didn¡¯t see or feel it move. He glanced at it. Did a double take. The tentacle was gone. Nothing but a stub remained. He looked back at Amy. She was gone too. He caught movement at the side of his eyes. Ah, there was his tentacle. And there was Amy. Lifting it. Swinging it. Bludgeoning his squad mates and licking off rooftops as she heaved its trail of destruction towards him. Aerokinesis kept it aloft in her grip. He raised two of his last main limbs to shield himself. The tentacles collided in an ear-shattering shockwave, but his held firm. Wait ... he actually blocked that? ¡°HAHA!¡± laughed Mr. Brusque. ¡°ALL THAT AND YOU CAN¡¯T LAND A HIT? SO MUCH FOR THE MIGHTY AM-!¡± She disappeared. Streaks of neon red shot across his vison. She reappeared, reclaiming the tentacle before it could even fall. Amy dragged away his tentacle without a word, flying close to the ground where her lightning had conveniently cleared a path through the brainflies. ¡°WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WE¡¯RE NOT DONE!¡± Mr. Brusque declared. He tried to snatch at her ¡­ except there was nothing to snatch with. He looked down. All his tentacles were strewn about the street. Mr. Brusque growled and urged his building forward. Its mollusk-like foot didn¡¯t respond. He extended an eye stalk to check the area. It was missing several vital connections and just generally looked like sushi. Amy had been busy. Oh, and that attempt to move forward? All it did was tip him over. ¡°Wait-WAIT-WAAIIT! UUUUWAAAAAAAAAAH!¡± His building hit the ground with a great cloud of dust. Why weren¡¯t the snipers laying down suppressive fire? Did they dislike him that much? No, of course not! He was an MVP alpha male! If anyone hated him, it was ¡®cause they ain¡¯t him. ¡°SNIPERS! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING RIGHT NOW!?¡± he roared, the slightest quaver of fear tainting his voice. ¡°LIGHTSHOW¡¯S DYING DOWN! GET ON TOP OF THIS, MR. GUTTER!¡± "My name is Mr. Perk, sIr," came the calm, vaguely sardonic voice of a sniper through his bio radio. ¡°You said she was all yours, sIr.¡± ¡°Oh yeah, that¡¯s right,¡± nodded Mr. Brusque. ¡°HEY! WHAT¡¯S WITH THE TONE!? YOUR NAME IS MR. GUTTER CAUSE I SAY IT''S MR. GUTTER!¡± ¡°There is no ''Mr. Gutter'' under our employ, sIr," dismissed that insubordinate such and such. "Just deploy your fly screen, sIr. Also, use your radio. She doesn¡¯t have to hear everything you say on loudspeaker.¡± ¡°DON¡¯T TALK BACK TO ME! I OUTRANK YOU!¡± Mr. Bursque raged. ¡°AND WHERE¡¯S THAT DRAUGHT COMING FROM!?!?¡± ¡°Why are you asking ME why there¡¯s a draught in YOUR control room!?¡± Mr. Perk finally snapped. Mr. Brusque was about to retort. He stopped himself. Come to think of it, how was there a draught? Why was the chilly air flow going warm? Since when had the room turned red? He spotted a hole in the wall. ¡°Oh ¡­¡± The warmth concentrated behind him. He felt it at the back of his neck, like body heat, but hotter. ¡°Oh ¡­¡± He swung around for a punch. His body froze against his will. A thin, red tendril had connected to his forehead. Inches from his face was that open-mawed grin. Those wild, wide eyes with flickering pupils. He could practically feel malice radiating off of her like the dreaded sunlight. ¡°Sir, did an avatar breach your control room?¡± asked Mr. Perk. Amy¡¯s hair sprang up, twitching with every syllable of the question as it tasted the radio waves. Some of her locks wrapped around his bio radio, inspecting it. He felt a question in his head: How to use the sound caster again? The appropriate memories bubbled up. Why was he thinking about this? Was she probing his mind? She leaned towards his radio¡¯s ear. Words came out of her, even if her mouth didn¡¯t move. ¡°WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME? JUST SHOOT HER!¡± Mr. Brusque flinched. Was that supposed to be his voice? What a joke! He did NOT sound like some puffed up manchild! Plus, it still had that slight, Amy-specific quality that he could only describe as ¡®echoey¡¯. What kind of idiot would fall for-? ¡°Whatever you say, Sir,¡± sighed Mr. Perk with the tone of an eye-roll. Mr. Brusque ground his teeth. It was hard being the only competent person besides Mr. Crow. His frustration went to good use, pushing him through whatever she¡¯d done to his beautiful muscles stop responding. Through grit and determination, he slowly lifted his hand, reaching for the tendril attached to his forehead. He would tear it off. Then, he would punch her. Mr. Brusque had almost reached it when Amy gently, smilingly, grabbed his wrist and moved his hand back to his side. The tooth-grinding grew verrry audible. She slinked around him, hair tendrils slithering across his skull. His mind raced. It was like that moment when one tripped and fell. Everything slowed down as the brain jumped into panic mode mid-fall. This time, he had a hunch it wasn¡¯t natural, especially since he wasn¡¯t afraid of her enough to panic. Definitely not afraid in the slightest, actually. Nope. Nuh uh. Just when he¡¯d gotten used to the sensation of 50 thoughts a second, she amped his mind into hyperdrive. Having circled like a shark, Amy stood before him. Her hair tentacles spread so wide that they stretched her head with them. That fanged smile warped all the bigger. She ascended and suspended herself in the air. For the first time, her hair didn¡¯t look like hair. Her face didn¡¯t read as a face. It all looked like jaws. His eyes no longer identified a girl. A predator was all they saw. Okay. Maybe he was scared. ¡°????L???????et¡¯?????s????? ha??????v?????e????? a??????? li????tt?????le???? fu?????n,???? ????Mr.?????? ????Bru???sq???u??????e,?????¡±?????? she purred. Her tentacles engulfed him. Part 20 - Russel Musk Mr. Brusque¡¯s world shifted and whirled. He felt shapes that were not shapes, saw colours that weren¡¯t colours. They loomed close, faded far and dancing all around him. His mind roiled in turmoil as though churning at the mercy of a great water beast. He spun on an axis that didn¡¯t exist, fell to a place that wasn¡¯t down. He struck out to punch something, anything, but his fist didn¡¯t feel like a fist anymore. The chaos settled. He felt polished wood beneath his arms and an ergonomic disaster on which he had to sit. Russel Musk jerked upright. What a dream. Wait, what was he dreaming about again? Oh well, it didn¡¯t matter. It wasn¡¯t real. He glanced around, hoping no one saw him wake up spooked. The classroom was a ghost town, and the teacher was nowhere to be seen. Nice. As far as he was concerned, that was where teachers ought to be more often. Jimmy Wilson stepped into the room. Their eyes met. Russel cracked a grin. Just the nerd he needed to up his mood. Jimmy eased the door shut and hustled away. In two twos, Russel shoved it back open. ¡°Where ya goin¡¯, Wimmy?¡± he asked, leaning on the doorframe. Back turned, Jimmy froze. The wimp wouldn¡¯t dare another step if he knew what was good for him. ¡°C¡¯mere, boy,¡± Russel commanded, pointing at the ground and clicking his tongue as though calling a dog. Jimmy hesitated. His small frame trembled. He heard footsteps, felt a shoe in his back. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on his stomach. ¡°We talked about this, Wimmy,¡± hissed Russel. ¡°When I call your name, you get. Here. Yesterday, wagging your little tail like the mutt you are.¡± Still gathering his wits, Jimmy reached for the glasses that had flown from his face when he hit the ground. Russel snatched them up. ¡°Sorry. I hear you can¡¯t hit a guy with glasses.¡± He snapped out the glasses by one of their arms and slapped them across Jimmy¡¯s face. Normally, such flimsy little things wouldn¡¯t pack much of a punch, but he knew how to make it hurt. The ¡®glass cannon¡¯, he called it. His aim was impeccable too. Right in the eye. Jimmy yowled. ¡°Ha ha! Look at that! You can hit a guy with glasses!¡± Russel laughed. ¡°Listen to that howlin¡¯!¡± ¡°It f-feels good,¡± Jimmy stated between tears. Russel stopped laughing. He stared. What was that supposed to mean? None of the nerds had ever responded like that. ¡°B-beating someone down because you¡¯re stronger or smarter,¡± Jimmy bleated, choking out a broken laugh. ¡°What a rush! It feels good, right? Yeah ... I know the feeling.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Jimmy looked up at him, one eye bloodshot from the blow. His gaze was piercing. The waver left his voice in those last few words. Russel flinched back and kicked himself for showing fear. That wasn¡¯t enough, so he literally kicked Jimmy. ¡°Man, Wimmy! You sound like some shrink!¡± raged Russel. ¡°Say somethin¡¯ else! Go on! I dare ya!¡± Jimmy smirked. ¡°Do you think you look good when you-?¡± Another kick. ¡°Keep talking!¡± Russel barked. ¡°¡­ act like this?¡± Jimmy continued calmly. The nerd behaved like it didn¡¯t hurt. His voice hadn¡¯t risen or fallen, which suggested that it really didn¡¯t hurt ¡­ or Jimmy didn¡¯t care. That wasn¡¯t how kicks were supposed to work. Russel gave him a fresh one. The force flipped Jimmy onto his back. This time, Jimmy wheezed into a cough. That was more like it! ¡°I got Ashley Bennett eating out of my hands, didn¡¯t I?¡± boasted Russel. ¡°Y¡¯know, I¡¯ve been thinking about Darwin and stuff. What do you think she sees when she looks at me? Two words: alpha male. In a primeval jungle, guys like me kept gals like her alive, and when we squish you? Heh, we¡¯re doin¡¯ nature a favour. Can¡¯t have dem wimpy genetics gunking up the gene pool, amIright?¡± A sly smirk lit up his face. ¡°¡­ But just in case.¡± Russel gave a well-aimed stomp. He wondered if Jimmy¡¯s howl would go high-pitched and girly. An iron grip stopped his foot dead in its tracks. The grip was Jimmy¡¯s. Russel staggered, almost fell as the boy¡¯s twig-like arm flung his foot to land elsewhere. Russel looked at the Jimmy like a worm he¡¯d discovered was a snake. Jimmy got up and dusted his hand off with a look that suggested he¡¯d touched something nasty. ¡°You know what gets me?¡± asked Jimmy, pacing in thoughtful circles. ¡°You¡¯ve got the good genes: the bulk of a small bull and the fleet feet of a ¡­ I dunno, a really fast cow.¡± Amid his surprise, Russel felt vaguely offended. ¡°You¡¯d be happy with that alone, but you¡¯ve got a fairly high IQ too ¡­ somewhere in the backrooms, gathering dust and mold.¡± Russel clenched his fists. ¡°And the best part? Fully functional, empathy. Someone sorta wishes she could reach out and rip it from your ¡­ wait a minute ¡­¡± Russel felt the icy touch of something feathery probing him. He whirled around to look. Nothing was there. ¡°Never mind. It¡¯s non-transferable,¡± muttered Jimmy. ¡°So anyway, your parents love you. No one¡¯s actively bullying you. Your friends are jerks and yes men, but it¡¯s not like you didn¡¯t pick ¡®em. Every now and then, you¡¯re at the crossroads. You see Jimmy on the floor and this thought comes knocking at your door: ¡®What if I stop being a jerk? What if I help him up and apologise?¡¯. You sense his pain and feel it too, but you don¡¯t want to, so it annoys you. You just push through and come up with reasons why this is okay.¡± Russel was raising his fist when Jimmy stopped and stared him in the eye. There was something about that gaze ¡­ he felt it in his soul. Jimmy''s face was the picture of disgust. ¡°You didn¡¯t stomp Jimmy. Not yet, at least. That happens three weeks after this. It was a permanent injury. Your posse mocked him left, right and centre. It went from ¡®Wimmy¡¯ to ¡®Wiman¡¯. He couldn¡¯t even walk right. When he thought life was too hard and acted out that belief, you laughed. ¡®Wiman, am I right?¡¯ Your friends were a bit uncomfortable, but they laughed too. Empathy ached in your heart, but you buried it. You had everything you needed to be a decent person, but you didn¡¯t and you know what?¡± Jimmy grinned inhumanly widely. ¡°I find that tantalisin????g????..¡± Russel looked at the teeth. Razor-sharp. The red in Jimmy''s bloodshot eye was glowing. Hard nope. He spun to run, but ¡®Jimmy¡¯ was still there. Ahead and to the left, the nerd remained in the same place relative to him. Russel reeled around, trying to shake off the spectre. Somehow, ¡®Jimmy¡¯ didn¡¯t touch the lockers, even when he should have. They were always behind him. ¡®Jimmy¡¯ never took a step. He just stood there, yet he moved, or maybe the world moved around him? Was Russel even moving? Eventually, Russel simply ran anyway. Wild terror blurred his thoughts. Jimmy¡¯s words echoed in his skull. ¡°I think you might be perfect for me,¡± ¡®Jimmy¡¯ declared, though his lips didn¡¯t move, ¡°but ¡­ I have to be sure.¡± ¡®Jimmy¡¯ reached out and tapped Russel. It was like getting hit by a train. Russel crashed through the lockers, the walls, to the frightening, churning black and red space beyond. He awoke to the sound of a blaring horn, his forehead planted on a steering wheel. Part 21 - Rise of A Landlord Russel awoke to the sound of a blaring horn, his forehead planted on the steering wheel. Groggy, he lifted his head and the honking stopped. ~Wimmy, a monster? Some stupid dream ¡­~ he thought. Why was he here anyway? Oh, right. Night had fallen. Apparently, that meant danger these days, but Russel thought little of monsters so wimpy that couldn¡¯t handle a little light. Even if not, surely they weren¡¯t everywhere. Not yet, at least. Besides, he had a flashlight. His date with Ashley Bennet had run a little late, but what kind of saps dated in the daytime, anyway? After hearing ¡­ something ¡­ in the distance, Ashley had asked him to drive her home a little faster. What right did he have to deny a lady a full show of what his sports car could do? There were vines in the road. Rather, they looked like vines. Spikes sprang up from them. Organic or not, he knew tire shredders when he saw them. Russel had swerved onto another road. However, they were there too. At that point, his last-second turns had sent the car out of control. Now, here he was with his prized sports car crumpled against a tree. ¡°Nnngh ¡­ Russ?¡± Ashley mumbled shakily, sprawled against the door. He turned to her and scowled. She didn¡¯t look so good. ¡°??????G?????M?????????M????????!????!??????!???????¡±????? There was that sound again. ¡°Okay, Ashes. We gotta move,¡± Russel declared. Ashley nodded dimly. She tried to sit upright. Her torso moved, but her legs didn¡¯t cooperate. Horror flashed across her features as she stared at them. Her words came gushing out. ¡°Russ,-I can¡¯t-mo-¡± She stopped herself. ¡°I think I need a little time. My legs are hurt bad.¡± He raised a suspicious eyebrow. She¡¯d revised her words, hadn¡¯t she? She probably couldn¡¯t feel her legs at all ¡­ which was his fault ¡­ No. It wasn¡¯t his fault someone had put a tire shredder into the road. He felt vibrations. An earthquake? Probably not. He could hear something too, drawing closer as the vibrations grew bigger. It had to be huge. ¡°Well, we don¡¯t have ¡®a little time¡¯,¡± Russel stated as he stepped out of the car. ¡°Please-don¡¯t-leave-me!¡± Ashley blurted. He tensed. Why couldn¡¯t she be a typical dumb blonde? ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you,¡± he half-heartedly declared. ¡°Now keep it down. You¡¯re gonna attract something.¡± He made his way around the car and opened her door. She fell out like a sack of potatoes. He should have figured that would happen, but still, it was annoying. Russel repressed his look of disdain. Ashley saw it first. Seriously, why was she so observant? Russel hoisted her into his arms. The vibrations were getting hard to ignore. *VVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMM* He trudged up to the nearest building: an abandoned shop, by the looks of it. Russel shoved through the door. Luckily it was already open ¡­ which was strange. He glimpsed the looming figure of something rounding the corner down the street. It was gigantic. Russel moved deeper into the shop, making his way to the back room. The ceiling looked strange, like it had been slip-shod painted in a layer of flesh. He could smell it too: sweet and salty, but not in a good way. Bars of something resembling bone ran along the roof. It almost looked like a form of reinforcement. He didn¡¯t like this, but it was too late to turn back. Ashley¡¯s sniffles were loud in his ear as she held on like her life depended on it. She was trying to keep them quiet and failing miserably. ¡°Hey, not so loud. If there¡¯s something in here, you¡¯re gonna attract it,¡± he whispered snappily. Pushing through the backroom door (which was also conveniently open), Russel set Ashley down on a chair, fumbling with the dead weight of her non-responsive legs. What a hassle. This couldn¡¯t last. His ears almost missed her quiet request. ¡°Russel, please.¡± Russel pretended not to hear her. Ashley had given up on concealing the tears. Her big, beautiful eyes locked with his own in a final plea. What really ticked him off was that she knew what he was going to do. Her body language said it loud and clear. He felt a little bad, but really, what did she expect? He needed a woman who could stand by his side, not some cripple to babysit. If the thing outside came knocking, why did it have to get both of them? He checked the back door, evaluating his options. Locked. The titanic entity had stopped right outside the shop. Russel locked the door through which they¡¯d come. ¡°????????G???????G??????G????????G??????M???????M??????M?????????M??????M????????M??????M????????M???!????????¡±????? Russel collapsed as the soul-chilling cry boomed through him. It seemed to go on forever. The shop shook. The roof peeled away and receded into the sky, hoisted by a tremendous tentacle. Another tentacle loomed in and creatures descended on it. They brought to mind miniature ogres. ¡°Woohoo! Lookie dere!¡± whooped one of them. ¡°We got ourselves some beef, fellas!¡± Ashley stared in silent horror.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The nyctal¡¯s eyes lit up upon seeing her. ¡°Ooh, and some arm candy to- AAGH!¡± Russel had blasted the nyctal with his flashlight. *TWACK!* A shock of pain. He clutched his wrist. The flashlight flew out of his hands. Another creature reeled in the object that struck it: a serrated toothy thing that looked like a beak crossed with a probiscis. Its back end throbbed with a gelatinous bulb connected to the nyctal¡¯s wrist by a long cord that brought to mind an intestine. ¡°Nice one, Mr. Licks!¡± commended the first as he landed. ¡°That oughta teach the livestock not to-¡± Russel punted the nyctal, who went squealing to the ground and skidded. He reeled upon another nyctal. This one caught his fist. Another punch. It was caught too. ¡°HA! For a second there I thought you were stron-!¡± Russel yanked the nyctal¡¯s chin into his knee. With his fists released, he gave the nyctal a quick one-two. The creature looked more stunned and surprised than hurt until, he too, got punted. The first of the punted staggered to his feet, fumbling with his toothy probiscis. Before he could sling it, a larger nyctal put a hand on his weapon, easing it down. ¡°Everyone stop!¡± snapped the bigger nyctal. ¡°We can use him.¡± ¡°W-wha?¡± stammered the would-be attacker. ¡°B-but Mr. Brukup, my keychain is starvinnng!¡± ¡°Mr. Gripe, that sounds like a you problem,¡± Mr. Brukup sassed. ¡°Besides, this is a feeding station and a recruitment centre. That man has potential.¡± ¡°NO!¡± cried Mr. Gripe. ¡°My keychain gets what it wants!¡± He twisted away from his superior¡¯s grip. Swift and smooth, Mr. Brukup snatched his keychain and jammed it into the smaller nyctal¡¯s side. The nyctal gasped as his girth visibly shrank and the gelatinous bulb of his keychain grew. He collapsed to his knees, a frail shell of his former self. ¡°There. Is your keychain satisfied yet?¡± teased Mr. Brukup. ¡°Or does it need another drink?¡± Mr. Gripe could only muster the energy to shake his head, saliva flapping from his loose jaws. ¡°Pardon my associate,¡± The lead nyctal apologised, approaching Russel. ¡°My name is Mr. Brukup, but you¡¯ve probably picked up on that. We are the landlords: a dark horse faction of nyctals soon to run this fine city. We¡¯re always looking for talented youngblood.¡± The nyctal nodded at Russel¡¯s physique. ¡°You¡¯re exceptionally strong, for a normie,¡± he praised. ¡°Imagine how strong you¡¯ll be with a keychain? That¡¯s just the tip of the iceberg if you join us. Whaddya say?¡± Russel eyed the nyctal. Objectively, these weren¡¯t particularly attractive creatures. Their immaculate business suits only drew attention to how strange they looked ¡­ but now that he thought about it, they could have looked worse. In fact, the look was starting to grow on him. Mr. Brukup grinned. ¡°Confused? That¡¯s the pheromones kicking in. We call it ¡®Status¡¯. It¡¯s like maxing out your charisma. Doesn¡¯t matter if a landlord ain¡¯t that pretty. People start to see you as someone who matters.¡± Now, Russel was interested. Replacing Ashley might be easy with Status on his side. Besides, his looks would be enough to override some of their aesthetic shortcomings, right? They were built powerfully too. Pound for pound, these nyctals were stronger than he was. If they were once normal people, what would someone of his physique become? He stared up at the eldritch building overlooking the shop. It stared back. Now that was power. It was practically a kaiju. ¡°Do I get to drive one of those?¡± asked Russel. The landlord laughed. ¡°Work your way up the corporate ladder and you might get your very own building, with your own staff! We treat our people fairly.¡± Russel grinned and extended a hand. ¡°You got yourself a dea-¡± ¡°AH! Hol¡¯ up!¡± the nyctal interrupted, raising his hands and stepping back. ¡°First, we need to evaluate your mindset, see if you fall in line with the landlord work ethic. Our buildings guzzle fuel like nothin¡¯ else. Every joule counts, and every boon has a price. What could you offer us as an initiation tribute, hmm?¡± Mr. Brukup¡¯s eyes slowly shifted to Ashely. Her face contorted with horror as she desperately glanced between Russel and the landlord, mouthing her boyfriend¡¯s name. Russel side-eyed the Mr. Brukup. ¡°Seriously?¡± Mr. Brukup shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll take what we want regardless.¡± ¡°R-Russel!?¡± Ashley squeaked, her voice breaking. Russel approached and knelt in front of her. He tried to look her in those gorgeous eyes, reddened by tears, but couldn¡¯t. ¡°¡­ Hey Ashes,¡± he began softly. ¡°Look, I know it¡¯s hard, but ¡­ ¡®don¡¯t cry because it¡¯s over. Smile because it happened¡¯.¡± She searched his eyes for anything that suggested he cared enough to do help. She found nothing. Ashley¡¯s despair morphed to wrath. "Are. You. KIDDING ME!?¡± she shrieked. ¡°YOU QUOTE DR. SEUSS AT ME AND NOW I¡¯M SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY!?!¡± Russel flinched back. ¡°Whoa! Simmer down, Ashes! It¡¯s not like I have a choice! I promise it won¡¯t hurt!¡± ¡°It will, actually,¡± Mr. Brukup corrected. Ashley fumed. Russel shrugged. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll make sure you don¡¯t have to feel it.¡± He raised a fist to knock her out. It didn¡¯t feel right to hit a girl, so he made his way behind her for a sleeper choke hold. ¡°GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!¡± roared Ashley, striking out. He jumped back, felt something dripping from his cheek and rubbed it off. Red. Her nail had caught him. Was she aiming for his eye? The landlords began to snicker. Russel¡¯s ego was stung a bit. ¡°YOU convinced me to come out at night!¡± Ashley snarled. ¡°Now I¡¯m some SACRIFICE because YOU couldn¡¯t protect me!? BARGAIN with them, or SOMETHING! Just TRY! PLEASE! Am I worth so LITTLE that you-?¡± Russel pitched her out of the chair. The landlords cackled. ¡°You can¡¯t make this stuff up!¡± guffawed Mr. Brukup. ¡°Ashley, you¡¯re crippled!¡± Russel hissed. ¡°Even if we both got out of this, what use could I POSSIBLY have for YOU!? Don¡¯t preach to me! Were we dating ¡®cause I¡¯m a nice guy? Don¡¯t take me for a fool! You liked what you saw and went for it! THAT¡¯S IT. I¡¯m not some bleeding-heart square. I¡¯m the guy who gets stuff done, the way it gotta be done.¡± ¡°But you were ¡­ nice to me ¡­¡± whimpered Ashley. He gave her a solid kick. The landlords hollered all the louder. ¡°I was nice ¡®cause you¡¯re cute,¡± Russel spat. ¡°Now? You¡¯re just plain annoying.¡± They tugged at his heartstrings. He decided he¡¯d seen enough of her. Russel turned to his new peers, grinning. ¡°Women, am I right? Do what you gotta do, boys.¡± Their laughter stopped. Russel raised an eyebrow. How strange. A shiver ran down his spine. Turning to the landlords, he noticed none of them were moving. The air was stiff and stale. He couldn¡¯t even hear the ambient sounds of the city. It was as if everything had simply stopped, except for him. He felt arms hug him from behind, recognising the perfume before having to look down at the dainty, polished nails. Ashley ¡­ could walk?? ¡°Thank you for being a monster,¡± came her purr. ¡°Not just some nyctal. A real monster. Guys like you keep gals like me happy, and wel?????????l fed??????.¡± The floors, wall and sky peeled away, revealing a mindscape of pulsing, squirming red and black. Memories of the present came crashing back in. Russel knew ¡­ oh, right ¡­ that wasn¡¯t his name anymore. He was Mr. Brusque. He knew that he was already a landlord. He knew that She had him. Standing atop a disorienting sea of shifting red, he felt sweltering heat welling up behind him as something hissed, screeched and squelched. He didn¡¯t need to look back, didn¡¯t want to look, but curiosity got the better of him. He looked back anyway. She was everything he expected, but worse. Backlit by red, her warped silhouette branched out skin-crawling tendrils that fed into the mindscape itself. She was the sky, the unapproachable vastness beyond the horizon. However, he could feel the boiling, blood-thick void shift with her writhing body, as though she were mere inches before him. Intuition told him he could not touch her. She was too far. However, she could definitely touch him. The space between them was not space. Her hair spiraled out into complex concentric circles that seared at his mind. She was beauty. She was horror. She was moving towards him. ¡°WAIT!¡± he commanded, raising his hands in a placative gesture. ¡°I¡¯ll be your guy on the inside!¡± Part 22 - Hail the Landlord ¡°WAIT!¡± Mr. Brusque commanded, raising his hands in a placative gesture. ¡°I¡¯ll be your guy on the inside!¡± Thankfully, Amy¡¯s patterns slowed their dance. He could almost look at her without feeling them burn at his brain. She was still straight up nightmare fuel, though. Amy looked at his upraised hands. Her perpetual grin didn¡¯t even twitch, but he somehow felt as though she¡¯d smirked. ¡°?????WH?????AT????? ?????A????R????E????? ???YO????U????? ????? ?????OW?????E???N???? ?????GR?????A???DY?????¡±????? she asked. Mr. Brusque¡¯s eyes winced shut. His mind reeled under the force of her skull-splitting voice. He almost collapsed, dimly aware that he did not appreciate the joke. ¡°Too bad. I think it was funny,¡± Amy commented. ¡°In here, my word is law, and therefore it was funny.¡± His eyes squinted open. Did she just ¡­ dial back her power for his sake? It seemed her compassion wasn¡¯t entirely gone, which meant she was still a sucker. If only she hadn¡¯t taken his keychain. It felt like missing a limb but, but it probably wouldn¡¯t help him, and he wouldn¡¯t need it. He could take advantage of her kindness as it was. ¡°I¡¯m literally in your head, so no, you cannot,¡± Amy corrected. He frowned. Knowing his thoughts would not change anything. She¡¯d saved all those people from the landlords, after all. Amy was a softie. She wouldn¡¯t do anything horrible to him. Her eyes narrowed mischievously, but she made no comment on that line of logic. He took that as a good sign. She could still be duped- err, he could still get out of this. Amy made no comment on that slip up either. Mr. Brusque cleared his throat. ¡°Seeing as you¡¯re in my head, I¡¯m sure you know that I¡¯m a very practical person.¡± ¡°Seeing as you ended up in this situation, you should know by now that you¡¯re not,¡± Amy quipped. He shrugged. At least she was still talking to him, instead of ¡­ whatever she planned to do if he ticked her off. The thought sent chills down his spine, but he reminded himself that she was a sucker ¡­ a powerful, sucker, who was smart enough to know a good deal when she saw one, heh heh ??. He could feel that she was holding back a laugh, but her expression hadn¡¯t changed. Without most of the mind-bending visuals, her giant avatar seemed more like a big, scary statue than a curse against his eyes. He could handle this. ¡°The landlords slipped through your claws before,¡± Mr. Brusque continued. ¡°How do you know defeating us today will count as a lasting victory?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll know what you know soon enough,¡± Amy stated. ¡°Maybe, but what if I don¡¯t know the whole story?¡± asked Mr. Brusque. ¡°It¡¯s always good to have an undercover landlord reserved, just in case. I¡¯ll be that guy.¡± ¡°Hmm ¡­ tempting, but you¡¯re planning on betraying me first chance you get,¡± Amy noted. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m h?????u???n?????g?????rrr????y???.?????¡±????? His hair stood on end, but he forced himself to calm down. She wasted her time walking him down memory lane. It was only a matter of time before John Crow realised something was up. ¡°Very little time has passed since I brought you here,¡± Amy stated. ¡°I¡¯ve accelerated our minds. John Crow isn¡¯t coming for you.¡± Mr. Brusque swallowed the lump in his throat. ¡°Look, we both know you¡¯re not gonna do anything to me. You¡¯re just trying to scare me onto the straight and narrow. It¡¯s like The Christmas Carol. I¡¯m a jerk. I understand that. I don¡¯t have a life to go back to, and I really don¡¯t want to change, but ¡­ I promise, I will try. That¡¯s all anyone can do. It¡¯s never too late for a second chance, right?¡± There was a lull. Amy stared in silence. Her inscrutable eyes seared into his soul. ¡°No,¡± she eventually answered. The calm, firm finality in her tone hit home harder than a shout. ¡°You sacrificed your girlfriend to save your own skin,¡± Amy declared. ¡°¡­ Ashley was done for anyway ¡­¡± Mr. Brusque quietly argued. ¡°You maimed Jimmy and drove him to end his life,¡± she went on.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°And how was I supposed to know he would do that?¡± challenged Mr. Brusque. ¡°You laughed at him,¡± she added. ¡°He was already dead! What difference would it make?¡± snapped Mr. Brusque. ¡°What¡¯s it to you? Did you know the guy? Earlier, you said something about empathy: implied that you wanted to take mine as your own. What are you, a vampiric sociopath? Would offing me make you feel better about yourself, like that makes you a good person?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t plan to change, don¡¯t want to change,¡± Amy concluded. ¡°If someone like me can take steps in the right direction, what¡¯s your excuse?¡± He had no answer. Amy seemed to shrug, despite the fact that she hadn¡¯t moved. ¡°Either way, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here. Without you, I¡¯d s??????ss????t???a???????rr????v?????e.???????¡±???????? Her titanic tendrils emerged from everywhere that wasn¡¯t. He jumped back, tried to swat one, but it flowed around his hand like wispy smoke. However, when they locked around his head? They felt solid, unshakable, rooting in his mind as deeply and immutably as the law of gravity. Amy¡¯s voice morphed into a haunting mimicry of Ashley¡¯s. ¡°Hold still, Russ. I promise it won¡¯t hurt.¡± His terror turned to outrage. Who was she to decide what he deserved? He grabbed a tendril, looking her dead in the eyes. Amy froze. That wasn¡¯t supposed to be possible was it? He crushed it. She yanked away the mangled tendril and its siblings with a sharp gasp. ¡°What ¡­? H-how did-?¡± The fear in her voice was sweet to his ears. Mr. Brusque¡¯s wrath called out to the red and black void, and it answered. Everything warped towards him. Currents of her power surged and crackled into his clenched fists. He struck out. Thunderous force went forth from his punch. It blasted a hole in her avatar¡¯s head, parting the sky. Strings of red reconnected the damage, pulling her back together, but Mr. Brusque was not one. He was on the move. The mindscape rippled with his every step as he strode towards her. His gait broke into a ground-gulping run. ¡°W-WAIT!¡± Amy stuttered, her massive avatar backing away as the mindscape bent towards him like a blackhole. ¡°You wanted another chance! Prove to me that you¡¯re-!¡± ¡°SHUT UP!¡± Mr. Brusque roared. Another punch and Amy¡¯s head was gone. Her arms flailed, frantic and fruitless. The keychain reformed on his arm. He slung it. Just as her head respawned, it plunged into her cranium. Mr. Brusque sighed, eyes rolling back as the keychain sated itself. Amy¡¯s energy was sweet and savoury. She stared into his eyes like a lamb to the slaughter, helpless, bewildered. He scoffed a chuckle. ¡°I think I get it now,¡± Mr. Brusque stated. ¡°The A.M.E. responds to force of will. If a mere girl like you can bring it to heel, what of a man like me?¡± Amy¡¯s eyes fluttered as her energy faltered. ¡°¡­ I ¡­¡± ¡°You nothing,¡± Mr. Brusque declared. ¡°From here on, it¡¯s m???????e????." ~ John Crow felt a little underwhelmed. Amy¡¯s battle avatar was dragging Mr. Brusque¡¯s hammer tentacle towards his eyescraper. Sure, it was big, but nothing to a single one of his own. She was flying too low, out of the snipers¡¯ line of sight, but the brainflies would close in on her soon. What difference would any of this make? Even so, Norman¡¯s warning about Amy¡¯s capability was at the back of his mind. He kept his sensors peeled for funny business. After all, her aerosol was everywhere. Then there was that feeling, like a touch of cowitch that couldn¡¯t be scratched. Somehow, some way, he felt like he was being stood up. He¡¯d gotten dolled up and everything, but there was this sense that she really wasn¡¯t focused on him. Her avatar was taking forever to reach him! It was irrational. He knew that. They¡¯d only been fighting for a minute or so. She wasn¡¯t moving slowly, per se, but considering the fact that she¡¯d battled his tentacles at close to the speed of sound? This was abysmally glacial! Why couldn¡¯t she hurry it up so he could pound her into mush in the most spectacularly wonderful way? Of course, John Crow was a professional, so he¡¯d keep those thoughts to himself. He remained the picture of calm, collected control. The most he¡¯d do is ask the staff to send up their least favourite member so he¡¯d have something to strangle if things got too annoying. He was reasonable like that. ¡°Sir, I believe an avatar has entered Mr. Brusque¡¯s control room,¡± Mr. Perk notified through the bio radio. ¡°His voice had the slight flanging characteristic of Amy when we last spoke. I believe she was impersonating him.¡± John Crow rolled his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s a loose end now. Cut hi-¡± Suddenly, Amy¡¯s avatar looked confused, before clutching its head with an anguished shriek. The tentacle dropped from its claws, destroying a street. Her aerosol turned pale and creamy yellow. It brought to mind a certain landlord¡¯s complexion. Familiar or not, a large construct was forming over Mr. Brusque¡¯s fallen building. The snipers knew what to do with it, riddling the giant form with holes like swiss cheese. ¡°?????MR. G????????U???????T????T??????E???R! IF ???????YO???U?????? LO????????B AN????OT?????H??????E????????R BO?????????O????????G??????E???????R AT??????? ?????M???????E, I¡¯??????M??? ?????G?????O?????????N??????N??????A ST???I?????C????????K YO??????U??????? ???U??????P????????? ??????M???????Y NO????????S??????E?????????, PL??????U???????C???????K YO????????U?????? ????????O????U???????T AN?????D??????? ???????PLAY????????? ??????WI???T???H TH??????E??????? ???????G?????U???N????????K THA??????T??????¡¯??????S?????? L???E????????F?????T OF?????? YA!" boomed a voice from the aerosol. John Crow raised an eyebrow. ¡°Snipers, hold fire.¡± In the absence of hypersonic bombardment, a colossal figure forged itself from the aerosol. Bigger than a peeping building, it was a landlord, decked with rippling muscles. John Crow folded his arms. ¡°Mr. Brusque.¡± The landlord¡¯s titanic avatar sat atop his old building like a king on his throne. Creamy lightning thundered about him: a casual testament of his newfound power. ¡°???????I¡¯????????M TH?????IN???K????????I??????N???????G ''LO???????R????????D BRU??????????S????Q??????U???????E?????'',¡±??????? rumbled the giant. ¡°?????????W??????AH HA????P??????P????????E???????N? ???????? ??????YO????U DO????????N''???????T SO??????U????N?????D HAP???????P???????Y TO???????? ????S?????????E?????E ME??????, ''BO???????S???????????S??????''.¡±???????? Part 23 - Fail the Landlord Mr. Brusque ¡­ no. Lord Brusque. Now that was a title befitting of one so great as himself! Lord Brusque looked out across the lands that were now his. As far as the eye could see, he would reign supreme. No longer was he a mere landlord. He was THE Landlord. He frowned upon the luminous handful of districts in the distance. There, the upper class and upper middle class huddled together, hording enough lights to sear at any nyctal that drew near. ¡®Brightside¡¯, they called it, but he wasn¡¯t merely ¡®any nyctal¡¯. He could already feel the difference. The A.M.E.¡¯s biomass barely shied away from the handful of streetlights within it. Clearly it didn¡¯t care about light nearly as much as the average nyctal. Brightside would be his. He¡¯d grow his biomass until it enveloped the city. The quarantine dome would be nothing to his might. Once it fell before him, he would spread across the world. History and times to come would know him as Lord of Earth, for he would forever be. Lord Brusque closed his eyes. He felt his aerosol shift across the buildings, through the streets. It caressed all that could be found within and upon them. He mostly didn¡¯t have to see the immediate area anymore. Shapes and textures outlined in his mind. Sheets of rain fell through his biomass. He felt the droplets. They almost tickled, but didn¡¯t. Some droplets reached the ground, while others were absorbed. The plethora of newborn sensations was more diverse and versatile than anything he had ever known. Yet, he felt a sense of distance from it all. Even with his gargantuan avatar, it was like feeling his body in third person. Oh well. Who cared about maintaining the human experience? He had transcended such things. His tactile awareness began to drop off where the brainflies swarmed thickest, but Amy had already cleared out many of them. Inside John Crows eyescraper, his senses went completely dead. Opening his eyes, Mr. Brusque gazed at the towering building occupied by John Crow. Wreathed in a vortex of brainflies, it was shrouded in shadows that rippled like the surface of water. Everything else felt puny, like standing in a diorama. Everything, except that eyescraper. It was as big as his titanic avatar, maybe larger. A rival alpha. John Crow said nothing. ¡°Lemme guess,¡± smirked Lord Brusque, ¡°You¡¯re sitting in there, just seething over the fact that I took control this apex predator before you did.¡± John Crow fumed. He lifted one of the eyescraper¡¯s tentacles towards the giant, a dim bomb¡¯s pustule swelling near the tip. Lord Brusque raised his hands. ¡°Hol¡¯ up. Don¡¯t you wanna know how I took control of the A.M.E.?¡± John Crow bit his lip. His metaphorical trigger finger itched like a flea infestation. He decided to stay his hand ¡­ for now. Amped by his A.M.E., John Crow¡¯s voice boomed from the sound casters, rivalling Mr. Brusque¡¯s. (He refused to acknowledge that guy as a lord, mentally or vocally). "?????Ff???f???fff???f???f?????in????e.???? ???? ????How?" spat John Crow. Lord Brusque laughed and clapped, his palms meeting like thunder. "It¡¯s simple!¡± John Crow waited. No elaboration came. "????So?"???? he finally asked. ¡°¡®Sooo¡¯, you¡¯re gonna give me your word that you won¡¯t even think about moving against me if you want an answer,¡± Lord Brusque declared. ¡°We¡¯re both alphas here. We can speak as equals.¡± John Crow¡¯s fingers twitched with yearning for a neck to strangle. Mr. Brusque picked the worst time to be competent. If Norman¡¯s words held any water, mastering the A.M.E. was a matter of self-control and willpower ¡­ What a load of rubbish! If it were that simple, he would have dominated Dread without issue. After all, he was as self-controlled and strong-willed as they came! He realised he was strangling a landlord. The puny thing must have wandered into the room for some stupid reason. He hadn¡¯t even realised he was doing it. Glancing at the entrance, he saw a couple more. They smiled at him. One even gave a thumbs up.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. John Crow found himself smiling back as he got warm and fuzzy inside. They knew he needed an outlet, and convinced some hapless sap to come within strangling range. What wonderful people! They really knew how to make him feel special! The landlord in his grasp gasped for air and wiggled oh so delightfully. Then the wiggling stopped. John Crow examined his victim. "????¡­ UNCONSCIOUS ALREADY!?"???? he shrieked. Forget their hospitality! These people were horrible! Sending one victim who¡¯d flake on him so fast was like giving someone a half-eaten potato chip after promising a meal! How cruel! How wicked! He hurled the limp body at the confused and horrified landlords. They fell like bowling pins. John Crow massaged the irritation out of his temple. At least he felt a bit better now. Five potato chips better. "???What became of Amy¡¯s consciousness?"??? he asked. Lord Brusque opened his massive palm. Amy¡¯s raspberry avatar manifested atop it. She looked dazed, as though suddenly set on her feet after a long sleep. Upon meeting Lord Brusque¡¯s gaze, she flinched into horror-stricken silence. He beamed. Amy took to the air. She barely got off the palm before his thumb pressed her back down. Remarkably, she¡¯d caught it, but her tiny arms strained against his casual might. He chuckled at her plight. ¡°Mr. Brusque, please!¡± Amy squeaked like the critter she was. ¡°I just want to save my boyfrien-!¡± ¡°BE QU????I???E????T???!¡± he thundered, pressing down a little harder. Her strength gave out. He felt the avatar crunch beneath his thumb. ¡°Crow! Bring out her little boyfriend! We¡¯re gonna have some fun!¡± Lord Brusque laughed. John Crow¡¯s eyes narrowed. He checked the sensor suite for any strange activity. The giant A.M.E. definitely smelt of Mr. Brusque¡¯s brainwaves. If its aerosol was up to anything worth noting, the energy signature would light up like the fireworks. So far, Mr. Brusque¡¯s avatar burnt sun-bright on his sensors. It was hard to pick up anything too near to him, but the fool had over-invested aerosol into that one construct. Even if he was up to something, he''d presented a massive weakness. There was a reason why Amy usually kept her avatars small. John Crow didn¡¯t get it. Mr. Brusque always had a certain spark to him, but he never thought it¡¯d be enough to pull off something like this. Then there was the fact that Mr. Brusque asked him to bring out Norman in the first place ¡­ Mr. Brusque was a ¡®moronically do it yourself if possible¡¯ kind of guy. Why hadn¡¯t he at least tried-? John Crow¡¯s eyes popped. He focused his sensors inside his eyescraper. A faint signature. "???Why don¡¯t you bring him out yourself?"??? he asked. Lord Brusque almost looked sheepish. ¡°I can¡¯t. Your fly screen¡¯s keeping me out, but I could always throw a building at it if you feel smug.¡± Yes. That¡¯s exactly what the fly screen was supposed to do. He¡¯d trained those brainflies not to sap energy from Dread. They didn¡¯t target the landlords because the bigger A.M.E. was enough of a feast, and it was everywhere ¡­ even in his building, mingling with Dread. However, there was definitely some active aerosol on the lower floors that wasn¡¯t his. Mr. Brusque shouldn¡¯t have been completely powerless. ¡°Which floor is Norman on?"??? asked John Crow. Lord Brusque grew agitated. "How should I know? I can¡¯t feel a thing in there!¡± John Crow compressed Dread¡¯s aerosol towards Norman. A neon-pink atmosphere glowed to life and pressed back. The brainwaves were not Brusque¡¯s. At John Crow¡¯s command, eyescraper tentacles arced up like serpents poised to strike. They arranged themselves symmetrically towards Mr. Brusque. "??????W?????????H???????O??????A?????????! ???????? H???????A???????????N?????????G???????? ?????O?????N???????!??????"???????? Lord Brusque exclaimed. John Crow couldn¡¯t hear him. Alright, he technically could, but he was too preoccupied with situation-appropriate cackling. Even professionals could express the love of their craft, right? He pulled that metaphorical trigger finger hard enough to pop joints. The tentacles coiled, squeezing their pustules tight. *PLOOOOOOOOM!* They detonated all at once. Thanks to the coils, the dim bombs¡¯ blasts focused forward, merging in a torrent of destruction. It blazed through the streets, tearing off the faces of buildings. Lord Brusque panicked. He summoned aerosol barriers the size of playing fields. John Crow¡¯s blast rampaged straight through them. As if that wasn¡¯t enough? The snipers took it all as their cue to open fire. Hypersonic rounds ripped through his- || The world stopped. Lord Brusque found himself staring at his own avatar, which made ¡­ absolutely zero sense. His mind choked and vomited trying to digest what had happened. Was this an out of body experience? ¡­ Adding insult to injury, his avatar looked stupid. Cartoonishly stupid. Sniper fire yanked it this way and that. One of the projectiles was in his cheek, stretching his terrified face like something that should never exist outside of Looney Tunes. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s you. You¡¯re probably wondering how you ended up in this situation.¡± His blood ran cold. No. No. "Yes! Yes!" That voice was Amy¡¯s! Lord Brusque¡¯s head whipped about in search of her, like an antelope scanning the grass for the lion whose scent was on the wind. He couldn''t see her anywhere. ¡°Y¡¯know, back in the old days, kids would get lashes for failing tests,¡± she reflected. He clenched his teeth. This couldn¡¯t be happening. Thiscouldn¡¯tbehappening! It wasn¡¯t fair! He¡¯d WON! ¡°I thought that was pretty draconian,¡± Amy went on, ignoring his despair. ¡°Why should kids suffer over a couple of math problems?¡± A pregnant pause. Lord Brusque almost cried. ¡°But you¡¯re not a kid, are you?¡± The last thing he saw was a neon-purple belt. Part 24 - Smile Because It Happened Lord Brusque howled. Amy raised the giant belt again. ¡°Stop mentally calling yourself that.¡± M-Mr. Brusque howled. She rolled her eyes and let the belt evaporate, but he was convinced it hadn¡¯t gone anywhere. He still felt it! That residual sting was as bad as the real thing! The pitch of his yowls grew positively feminine as the aftermath¡¯s agony somehow escalated. Saliva dripped from his lips as he heedlessly howled his lungs ragged. ¡°I¡¯m surprised no one¡¯s ever called you ¡®Jack Russel¡¯,¡± Amy commented impassively. ¡°Well, not to your face at least ¡­¡± The burning pain stoked his wrath. How dare she? HOW DARE SHE!? Mr. Brusque reeled to punch her. She flicked up a claw and it bounced off. Did ¡­ AMY JUST DEFLECT HIM WITH A FINGER? It didn¡¯t matter! He¡¯d punch until her defenses shattered! Amy barely paid him any mind. Clicking her tongue, she casually blocked his blows with her finger as she shook her head at the frozen face of his titan avatar, comically warped. It should have been his body, but here he was floating next to her in the form of an avatar that matched his original size. Titan or not, she¡¯d made the mistake of giving him another body. Because of that, he could still punch her! She sighed and turned towards the burning river of dim bomb heading their way, courtesy of John Crow. At the back of his mind, he realised it wasn¡¯t frozen, but approaching very, very slowly. After all, she hadn¡¯t stopped time, merely sped up their perception. The world still moved, though it crawled. ¡°I hand you the steering wheel for, like, five seconds, and you get John Crow to launch a finisher,¡± she deadpanned. ¡°If you wanna be my guy on the inside, you gotta at least last ten minutes without getting merked. Sound reasonable?¡± He stopped punching. ¡°Wait ¡­ you accepted my offer?¡± ¡°Something like that,¡± Amy smirked slyly. Mr. Brusque deflated. ¡°This was a second chance.¡± ¡°Yup,¡± she nodded, ¡°but I¡¯d say you¡¯re pretty far past second chances, don¡¯tcha think?¡± He wasn¡¯t sure what to make of her mischievous tone, but for the moment, she was cool and collected. It was a far cry from the bloodthirsty abomination who¡¯d menaced him. ¡°That¡¯s a rather disrespectful way of putting it,¡± Amy lightly protested. Even so, she didn¡¯t feel dangerous at the moment. She seemed ¡­ casual. Sure, his nerves were still on fire, but he¡¯d pick this over a bloodthirsty Amy any day. However, her vibe was very different from what he¡¯d seen in the news. Amy¡¯s resting persona was warm but jumpy, bordering on ditzy. This was calm but cold. She even used her voice a bit differently, lower and smoother. He felt like he couldn¡¯t get her to raise it even if he punched her in the face. It was hard to say what Amy was supposed to look like. The cameras never got a clear shot, but he was pretty sure she was pinkish raspberry. Now, she was closer to purple. Was that normal? At least the predatory irises didn¡¯t dance madly anymore. Maybe he could talk to her. ¡°This is the default me, actually,¡± Amy explained. ¡°Besides, I tend to calm down after I¡¯ve eaten something.¡± That didn¡¯t sound good. What had she eaten? Amy grinned, subtle little fangs on full display. ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough, sweetheart,¡± she purred. Amy descended towards his fallen building. An invisible force tethered him to her, dragging him along wherever she went. They floated past the great mass of his titan. He mourned the loss of it, although he supposed he never had it in the first place. ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s not fair of me to say you did horribly,¡± Amy reflected. ¡°You kept Crow duped and busy while I did my thing. You could have been more prudent about getting him to bring out Norman, but I suspect he would have seen through it under most circumstances.¡± Mr. Brusque stared at her. ¡°You ¡­ knew I¡¯d ask him to do that?¡± ¡°I planted the idea in your head, after all,¡± Amy stated, before quoting her plead in a squeaky voice. ¡°¡®Mr. Brusque, please! I just want to save my boyfriend!¡¯ Heh heh. Classic reverse psychology.¡± He mentally kicked himself. Amy continued: ¡°Seeing as your titan made a ridiculously large target, my biomass is gonna take a blow, but I¡¯ve been well-compensated, so it balances.¡± He glanced at the titan. As far as his eyes could tell, it hadn¡¯t moved since they started their descent. If she could accelerate her mind like this, why didn¡¯t she bullet time all her battles? ¡°Ever tried running in slow mo? It doesn¡¯t work,¡± Amy explained. ¡°If your mind doesn¡¯t align with the capabilities of your body, your actions start to fall apart. Our current ¡®bodies¡¯ aren¡¯t true avatars. I can¡¯t fight like this. They¡¯re basically augmented reality: POV projections within my biomass. Here, we can watch the world without interacting. It¡¯s like observer mode in a videogame.¡± Her eyes flicked to Mr. Brusque as she sensed him spook. Staring at the wounds in his titan, he noticed something coming out of them. Red ¡­ was it filled with some kind of blood, or ichor? No. The red ¡­ things had structure. ¡°Ah, you spotted them,¡± Amy noted. ¡°There¡¯s a pretty cool answer to what those things are.¡± He looked at her. ¡°¡­ And?¡± Amy shrugged. ¡°And nothing. I¡¯m not some villainess who feels the need to explain every detail. You¡¯re not gonna remember much of this conversation anyway.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a better person than I am, though,¡± he flattered in his most sincere-sounding voice. ¡°I know,¡± Amy replied smugly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I turned on you,¡± he continued, ¡°but ¡­ you were gonna devour me! Surely you understand that I¡¯d be angry!¡± Malicious mirth darkened her eyes. ¡°¡®Were gonna¡¯, huh? You¡¯re funny.¡± He didn¡¯t think it was very funny. They phased through the wall of his fallen building, arriving in the control room. Mr. Brusque stilled at the sight. The neurological tissue filling the room was scorched extra crispy. Apparently, that¡¯s what happened when you left a ravenous avatar in what was essentially a giant brain. Her feeding tentacles were spread everywhere, searing the grey matter as they aggressively consumed its energy. It looked like a twisted mimicry of that thing John Crow did to sync up with the control room. In retrospect, John Crow¡¯s version was plenty twisted as it was. Every second he spent flaunting his so-called power over her A.M.E., she must have been feasting down here. However, what held his attention with an iron choke hold was the sight of the avatar¡¯s tentacles engulfing ¡­ something. From the head down, they smothered almost every inch of it like snakes in a feeding frenzy, but he knew what it was. His own body. Amy leaned in, staring alongside him. ¡°Maaaan, I feel sorry for the sucker who¡¯s going through that. Well, not really, but I¡¯ll get all weepy when this is over and I put back on my goody two shoes. It¡¯s like a psychological hangover.¡± He blinked away from the sight and looked around. If she¡¯d eaten his control room, why hadn¡¯t the fail-safes activated? Wait ¡­ why couldn¡¯t he remember what they were? ¡°Fail-safes were the first thing I looked for while snacking around in your memories,¡± Amy shrugged. ¡°Naturally, John Crow¡¯s paranoia-addled mind drove him to hide a number of unmarked dim bombs too. Joke¡¯s on him: my paranoia is like a jealous ex who still thinks her old BF belongs to her for some reason. Found ¡®em, ate ¡®em. They were nasty. Need a palate cleanser. You¡¯re it.¡± Mr. Brusque thought fast. ¡°Does your boyfriend know you¡¯re a killer?¡± A chuckle bubbled out of Amy¡¯s throat as she slapped him on the back. Surprisingly, it didn¡¯t hurt. Maybe she was saving all the hurt for later. ¡°Who said anything about killing you?¡± she laughed. ¡°Ever heard that you can¡¯t have your cake and eat it too? Well, here¡¯s the catch: if you eat half the cake, and leave the rest behind, you can do both!¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. He blanched. ¡°Anyway, back to your body!¡± Amy cheerfully declared, dragging him towards the figure buried in tentacles. Mr. Brusque pulled and wrenched against her grip. She didn¡¯t budge. He felt like a kid, no, a baby, wrestling the casual power of a father. He heard the shrill screams of a woman, followed by what sounded like ugly crying. It took him a second to realise they were coming out of his own mouth. He could feel and see the tears and mucus splattering everywhere. Amy didn¡¯t seem to care about the mess. ¡°Don¡¯t cry because it¡¯s over. Smile because it happened,¡± Amy crooned, before grabbing his cheeks and pulling them face to face. ¡°¡­ Well? Where¡¯s that smile? Show me dem nasty teeth!¡± She shoved him back into his body, but he knew he¡¯d never really left it. Never stood a chance. He felt those tentacles locked around him. Their icy hot touch was a skin-crawling paradox. Every nerve in his body screamed and retched as those tentacles seemed to burrow beneath flesh, beneath bone. Then he experienced something new. In the absence of stimuli, the human body could not be felt. No one felt their skin unless it was touched. No one discerned their internal organs until they were damaged. It was the same with the mind. Who could imagine that the psyche had form, anatomy? Mr. Brusque didn¡¯t, but now? He felt it with a sense he didn¡¯t know he had. There was no frame of reference for what he perceived, so his mind offered up four metaphors. An atom ¡­ a planet ¡­ a plant ¡­ an animal. The first was a speck circled by layers of particles. However, they weren¡¯t really particles, and it wasn¡¯t truly tiny. The metaphor collapsed. He saw a great orb wandering through space, orbited by nameless things he could best compare to moons and rings. They never quite rotated the same way. The core was no orb any more than a circle was a sphere. There was an aspect they bore that didn¡¯t exist, and yet it existed. The image imploded. It became a tree. All those orbiting forms floating in space had left behind trails, but those trails were solid: spiral branches made of past rotations ¡­ It was beautiful ¡­ He looked further down the tree. Russel Musk looked back. He looked higher, and witnessed the birth of Mr. Brusque. Higher still, at the peak of it all, the spirals twinned and echoed their own movements. He felt himself looking at himself. Plants couldn¡¯t move or react like this. So, he saw an animal. It peered into the waterhole. Therein, its reflection stared back. However, behind its eyes he saw something more than a beast: something beyond his understanding. The creature was long, like a serpent. Its tail stretched back through the passage of time. It didn¡¯t walk. Walking was an insufficient metaphor. Instead, it dipped beneath the aetherhole and swam. It swam for its life. Strange particles bombarded the atom, tearing away electrons and protons. The atom began to split, unleashing energies unimaginable. A yawning void warped the stars. Its hunger was a force of nature. Moons tore from orbit. Hypersonic winds raked across the lands as the atmosphere peeled away from the surface. Forests uprooted into the sky. Oceans rose from the seabed in a cataclysmic inversion of rain. Tectonic plates cracked, rocked, rose and crashed down like ships on a sea of magma. Landmasses split. Lava poured out and upwards to sate the hunger of the blackhole. Vines invaded the garden, choking the life from the tree as they spread along it like a disease. Branches old and new broke under the pressure. Invisible paws ripped away fruits into the maws of chittering creatures. From the depths beneath, tentacles snared the sea serpent, dragging it down. The beak of a kraken awaited it. Its shriek poured forth gouts of bubbles before a tentacle squeezed its jaws shut. And so, the beast feasted. Every metaphor collapsed and he was left with the truth: that which could not be seen, but felt. Feeding parts pierced, plucked, pealed, cleaved, cracked, scooped and sucked. He felt them ¡­ he felt them: chunks of his mind, chunks of him, vanishing, and there was nothing he could do. Mr. Brusque couldn¡¯t even scream. The tentacle clamped over his mouth forced the air to go nowhere. At the back of his consciousness, he felt something shatter around him. The briefest peephole opened between his tentacled prison. He saw that Amy had flown through the wall. The G forces were ferocious. Like a squirrel in the talons of an eagle, she carried him across the cityscape at breakneck speed. A fraction of a second later, his peeping building collapsed under sniper fire. Hypersonic bombardment tore his titan avatar asunder. From its injuries, out poured swift, red things that darted through the air like hummingbirds. The snipers had orders to shoot down Amy¡¯s constructs before they finished forming, but how could they know she¡¯d built these things inside his titan? Had his avatar been a Trojan horse the whole time? The peephole closed up, leaving him in the dark with nothing to distract from the sensation of Amy¡¯s ¡­ feeding. Finally, he was dumped onto the cold, hard floor, like a bone spat from the craw of the predatory bird. His staff surrounded him, bound by webs spun from aerosol. It appeared that they were in the vault of an abandoned bank. He didn¡¯t feel any webs around him, but ¡­ something was off ¡­ He should have scrambled to his feet by now. His cheek remained planted on the chilly concrete. Why weren¡¯t his limbs responding? Amy floated upside down, bringing her head close to the ground so that they were eye to eye. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯ve forgotten how to use your limbs, huh?¡± Amy asked. Despair dawned upon him. No ¡­ had she actually-? ¡°I¡¯ve eaten most of your motor skills,¡± Amy explained all too casually. ¡°You literally don¡¯t remember how to work your limbs. Twenty three years of knowing how to walk makes for a big but boring meal. Your athletic abilities were much tastier.¡± She sucked her claws as though savouring the residual flavour. Mr. Brusque¡¯s mind spun. She¡¯d crippled him? Just like Ashley. His thoughts scrambled to take inventory of what was left. He knew he¡¯d been an ace in sports: could sling a keychain as well as a football. He knew he¡¯d ridden a bike, and typed on a smartphone. He knew he¡¯d walked and ran, but he couldn¡¯t remember doing any of it. The details were gone. Had she really taken so much from him? He couldn¡¯t even feed himself anymore! ¡°¡­ You should have just killed me,¡± Mr. Brusque stated quietly. Amy laughed. ¡°Since when does the enemy get a say in his punishment? You wanna take the ¡®easy out¡¯? No. You¡¯re going to live. You¡¯re gonna learn and relearn it all from the bottom. There¡¯s still hope for you, even if you gotta be spoon-fed for who knows how long.¡± Mr. Brusque couldn¡¯t meet her gaze. In every way, he was a loser. Amy¡¯s gaze softened. ¡°I know it feels like I¡¯ve violated your rights, like I¡¯ve taken something sacred. Maybe I have. There are things that you just don¡¯t do to another person: subhuman things. People make mistakes, but you? You embraced them, rolled in the filth, smeared the slop across your face and declared it tasty. You were not gonna stop. Not by choice. If you refuse to live up to the gift of personhood, don¡¯t be surprised when someone treats you as lesser. The only way to stop a monster is to treat it as less than human. Sooner or later, something would have stopped you, in life or in death. You¡¯re lucky that ¡®something¡¯ was me. There are greater things to fear than monsters.¡± She floated upright and wagged a finger at the other landlords, who flinched away. ¡°Sit tight and be good little boys and girls. This vault is one of the safest places on the battlefield ¡­ probably.¡± ¡°KEEEEEEEEEEEE!¡± Amy paused at the sound of the eldritch shrieks coming from outside. A couple landlords lost the luxury of dry pants. She shrugged. ¡°Prison be soundin¡¯ reeaal nice and cozy now, amIright? Relax. Reflect. Retrace the events that brought you here, and make sure it never happens again. Some of you were forced into this lifestyle. Others welcomed it with open arms. Quite the mixed bag, but I¡¯ve snacked accordingly. Whatever it was that enabled you to live as landlords, I¡¯ve taken it away. So, be happy, or mourn. Either way, it works for me. I¡¯ll check in on you jailbirds sooner or later. If I pick your minds and find signs that you¡¯ve changed your ways? I¡¯ll vouch for you. If not? Go ahead: plot your escapes, scheme your revenge. Rebuild the skills and knowledge I took from you, so that I can suck them out again.¡± ¡°YOU¡¯RE A MONSTER!¡± shrieked a landlady. Amy¡¯s head turned 180 degrees to look at her. The landlady shrank back, her inverted bob cut bouncing with the sudden movement. However, she pressed on. ¡°W-WE¡¯VE DONE NOTHING WRONG!¡± spat the landlady. ¡°WE¡¯RE ALL ANIMALS, TRYING TO SURVIVE IN THE JUNGLE!¡± A few voices murmured their agreement, giving her courage to continue. Amy smiled. ¡°WE-WE¡¯VE ONLY EVER DONE WHAT WE MUST TO SURVIVE!¡± continued the landlady, her voice quaking with conviction. ¡°DON¡¯T PREACH TO US, YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS LITTLE-!¡± Amy¡¯s tendril shot to her forehead. ¡°Whagh muh meveemm?!¡± exclaimed the landlady. ¡°MAGUGUH AGUM! PFTAFAAAAAAAAAAAT!¡± ¡°Animals don¡¯t care what their prey has to say,¡± Amy declared simply. The other landlords looked on in horror. ¡°Did she just ¡­ eat Ms. Karyn¡¯s ability to talk?¡± mumbled one of them. ¡°I think I did us all a favour,¡± Amy quipped, ¡°although I¡¯m not sure why Karyn is so upset. Did anyone catch the irony?¡± Amy waited. Eyes opened across her avatar as she scrutinised each and every one of them. The landlords exchanged glances. What was she going on about? ¡°I¡¯m expecting an answer,¡± Amy thundered. More landlords lost their dry pants privileges. What did this psycho even want them to say?!? ¡°Ms. Karyn wants the benefit of being seen as an animal, without bearing the consequences,¡± answered one who hadn¡¯t spoken before. ¡°You treated her like one, and she acts as though it violates her viewpoint, when it does not. The fact is that no one wants to live it out to its logical conclusion.¡± He felt the sneers of his peers. It looked like he was agreeing with her, which made him a traitor, a sympathiser. It looked that way because he was. All that time, plotting the demise of himself and his fellow landlords for their crimes against humanity. Was it for naught? They needed someone to blame for all the shame she¡¯d put them through, but Amy was untouchable. He, on the other hand, was not. The moment she left, they¡¯d do everything in their power to break free of her bonds. If not there, then in prison, or wherever they ended up. Maybe a black site. They would plunge their keychains into his- Amy clapped, interrupting his thoughts. ¡°Very astute, Mr. Specs! ¡­ Even if you were just saying what I wanted to hear.¡± She growled that last part, vibrating the air. The threat was clear. His fellow landlords looked upon him with eyes anew, nuanced with appreciation. Who knew what she¡¯d have done if he hadn¡¯t given the answer she wanted? Maybe he¡¯d saved them, and maybe she¡¯d accidentally saved him. If Amy hadn¡¯t said those last few words, they would have surely ¡­ wait a minute ¡­ She wasn¡¯t quite looking at him, but he caught the slightest of winks. ¡°KEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!¡± Another screech, closer than before. The landlords felt it in their skin, a prickling tickle. That wasn¡¯t just a screech, was it? A chill spiked through Mr. Brusque¡¯s heart. What on Earth has she unleashed from his titan? Dry pants were officially an endangered species. Amy ignored the palpable fear in the air. ¡°Karyn had a point, but I¡¯m not a monster. I¡¯m THE monster. If you ever forget that, please. I beg of you. Give me a reason to eat your dreams, and give your nightmares the breath of life.¡± Her avatar vanished in a ghostly gust of vapour. *THOOM!* The heavy vault door had shifted shut, as though moved by the hands of an invisible spectre. Its mechanical lock rotated into place, leaving the landlords in a darkness their night vision couldn¡¯t penetrate. From the thick silence came a cackle. It effervesced to roaring laughter. ¡°YESSSSSSSS! MS. KARYN CAN¡¯T TALK NO MORE!¡± cheered a landlord. ¡°YOBU MUKABABABABAAAA!¡± screeched said landlady. Part 25 - Smoke and Mirrors The gutterperk: A handmade, Barbadian slingshot once loved by little boys. What better name for a sniper? He could think of several billion. At least they¡¯d shortened it. Mr. Brusque called him Mr. Gutter. Officially, his designation was Mr. Perk. Well, as ¡®officially¡¯ as things got in the cesspool of an organisation known as The Landlords. They weren¡¯t comfortable with Mr. Perk either. He never quite clicked with the landlord ¡®work ethic¡¯. Before The Night Shift, he was a soldier: ¡®one of those old-fashioned types¡¯, as they put it. He was also one of Sargasa¡¯s best shots too. Give him a gun and he could get the job done. His colleagues knew he¡¯d happily show them the business end of his talents if he could get away with it. The guy was a ticking time bomb. John Crow saw to it that he was in more ways than one. The dim bomb attached to his back itched. He¡¯d learnt to ignore it. Instead, he focused on peppering Mr. Brusque¡¯s titanic avatar with hypersonic bullets. It was one guilty pleasure of the task at hand. Another was the monster he commandeered. The nyctal seemed akin to some crustacean crossed with an arachnid. It clung to the side of the building with sprawling legs like a spider crab, peering around the corner for cover when firing. He didn¡¯t fully understand how the building didn¡¯t collapse as it carried dozens of tons of ammo. It had something to do with an ¡®electron amplification web¡¯ that extended from the beast¡¯s feet, reinforcing the molecular bonds in the structure. Alright, maybe he did understand it at least a bit. What he didn¡¯t understand was how John Crow got ahold of this kind of stuff. That guy even had a cute name for them. ¡®Clingshots¡¯. Such an innocuous little title downplayed their capabilities. Mr. Perk wouldn¡¯t be surprised if a single clingshot could clear a battlefield ten tanks strong. They moved faster and hit harder than any ground-based weapon he had ever seen. It was perhaps the closest thing to piloting a mech that he¡¯d would ever experience. A small part of Mr. Perk felt a boyish thrill every time he got to use them. He hated himself all the more for that. With the help of graspers like a basket, the same field fixed the ammo to its underbelly. His bullets were cars, compacted into spheres by its tail and rear limbs as casually as a kid would roll a snowball. Terrifying strength. Then they were coated in a smooth, rubbery secretion, like a spider webbing its prey. Realistically, these were more like cannon balls than bullets. When he needed them, they travelled along electromagnetic paths on the clingshot¡¯s body to perch atop the four lesser pincers like golf balls on tees. Then the clubs struck. In this case, the clubs were the raptorial appendages, like those of a mantis shrimp. He brought them to lightly touch the two bullets. First shot: appendage one accelerated to thousands of miles per hour. The projectile didn¡¯t simply break the sonic barrier. It obliterated it. The atmosphere screamed. The building shuddered. Windows shattered to sparkling dust. Second shot: there was no glass left to shatter. The atmosphere could no longer scream. It choked out a whine, spread too thin by the first shot to do much more. If not for his protective helmet and suit, he would have lost his eardrum, among other things. The Mr. Brusque¡¯s new A.M.E. atmosphere was vast. He wondered how Amy had fit so much of it into her house, or where she¡¯d put it during daylight. However, the clingshot had had more than enough range to reach it from a relatively safe distance. Both bullets tore through Mr. Brusque¡¯s titan and kept going like it hadn¡¯t even been there. Who knew where they would land? They¡¯d probably hit the quarantine dome, but it wouldn¡¯t fall. He¡¯d already tried to blast the thing down. The bullets exploded into plasma, which raised more questions. Since when did humanity have the tech to quarantine a city under a forcefield, experimental or not? Once, he would have would have believed the clingshot was among the most powerful weapons on Sargasa. It could rip through most peeping buildings before they raised a tentacle. However, he doubted that John Crow would just give them something like this if he didn¡¯t have better. Even so, if Beatrice Barton could just pull out a citywide forcefield? John Crow was a joke compared to her. Mr. Perk fired the last two bullets. The building was beginning to crack. Such was the power of the clingshot¡¯s recoil, even with the electron web. The deed was done, though. Mr. Brusque¡¯s titan was collapsing. He reloaded. Soon, he¡¯d have to find another firing position, but if his snipers kept the pressure on, the titan wouldn¡¯t recover. Wait a minute ¡­ What were those things pouring out of the titan? They darted through the air with uncanny agility, blazing red ¡­ like Amy. Was this her doing? Maybe Mr. Brusque had never taken control in the first place. Perhaps she¡¯d used his titan to build them in secret. They reminded him of drones. No ¡­ clarions ¡­ he knew their name? How did he know their name? He¡¯d think about that later. Mr. Perk focused his scope. He had a hard time figuring out its structure, but he didn¡¯t have to. All he needed was a good shot. It looked back at him. He fired. It was gone. The thing had darted off before he could get a good look, let alone get out a shot. He gave chase with the scope. It was hovering again. He could see it at the edge of his- ¡°KEEEEEEEEEEEE!¡± The sonic blast struck like lightning. He felt it ripping through him, skin to bone and out again. The screech¡¯s pitch jumped and dipped. It briefly touched a frequency that tore at his nerves like a million needles. His mind blurred. He realised he was falling. Mr. Perk didn¡¯t recall when he released the clingshot. That sonic blast must have blacked him out. He watched as the clingshot grew further above while gravity greedily dragged him down. The scream¡¯s pitch shifted again. A sickening cracking sound racked the air. Shards of shell fell from the clingshot. Its exoskeleton had shattered. Stunned, it detached from the wall, gravity-bound towards him. Mr. Perk hit the ground back-first. The clingshot¡¯s shadow descended upon him. He rolled clear. It crashed down where he¡¯d been, cratering the street. He¡¯d missed it by inches. Scrambling to his feet, Mr. Perk gathered his wits. What ¡­ what had hit him? Some kind of sonic cannon ¡­ that made the most sense, but it even wrecked his clingshot¡¯s exoskeleton! How was that possible? He remembered watching a video about resonance, back when he was normal. Every substance vibrated best at a certain frequency. Hit the right frequency with a sound loud enough, and it would break. The clingshot twitched as he stared at it in a daze. Amy must have figured out its resonating frequency. If that was true, then when the soundwaves tore into him ¡­ was that the resonating frequency of his flesh, or an aspect of his flesh? If she¡¯d lingered on that frequency a bit longer ¡­ He shuddered at the thought. At the edge of his vision, a red blur whirred in. Blasts of air pressed down upon him as it hovered above. The sound it made ¡­ his mind made the shaky comparison to a helicopter, but there was nothing quite like it: organic, alien, like an engine, but not. Since when could Amy¡¯s constructs could leave her atmosphere? He looked up. The clarion¡¯s kaleidoscopically cycloptic eye gazed back, assuming that was even an eye. Sheets of crimson pulsed down its frame in Bezier curves. They disintegrated into the mini atmosphere around it before repeating the process at the top. This cycle generated thrust like a jellyfish¡¯s bell, but far more quickly and elaborately. He saw it happen countless times a second. How? He was just built like that. After becoming a nyctal, his eyesight had only improved. Concaved petals framed its ¡®eye¡¯. Complex concentric circles swirled around the centre. It did not speak, but its name blared loud and deep into his psyche. ( (~ C L A R I O N ~) ) It held his gaze like a moth to the flame. How could he tear his eyes away from something so beauti-? ¡°KEEEEE!¡± Consciousness fled him. ~ John Crow leant forward, eyes wild with fascination as they drank up the scene. Locked in a desperate battle of sound vs. bullets, the snipers had forgotten about covering him ¡­ not that he cared much. Amy¡¯s clarions were marvelous weapons. He wanted them. More than that, she¡¯d named them in the language that all humans knew, even if these half-baked excuses for humans could barely comprehend it. Had she designed the clarions, or were they built into her A.M.E.? Maybe both. The Dread A.M.E. he wore had some generative intelligence. Once it knew what its master wanted, it could do a lot of legwork figuring out how to get it done. Some of its constructs were primarily instinctive. Others were products of his mind. Most of them lay somewhere in between. That meant that Amy probably had a decent idea of what she was doing. She¡¯d never deployed the clarions before. The most likely scenario? This was a newborn brainchild of hers.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Oh, how he longed to crack open her mind and feast upon that juicy genius. He idly glanced at the street where she¡¯d dropped Mr. Brusque¡¯s severed tentacle. It was gone. John Crow frowned and set his sensory suite to scan the area. A signature popped up. The eyescraper¡¯s omnidirectional vision zeroed in on it. Floating half a block away was a battle avatar. Its massive four forelimbs were shaped like a mantis¡¯. They easily dwarfed her body. Arms elegantly arched like two pairs of wings, it hung in the air like a portent of doom. John Crow scoffed. What a lopsided design. Sure, it was cool to look at, but that form didn¡¯t look very battle-practical. Maybe he¡¯d been wrong about her ¡­ or maybe underestimating her at this stage was a mistake. Despite its relatively high mass, the avatar had manifested faster than any of the others. It shot towards him at over 600mph and accelerating: shockingly fast for any avatar. His eyescraper¡¯s tentacle moved faster, lashing up to meet her. The avatar disintegrated a split-second before impact. Its thick vapour flowed away and sideways so fast that it hissed. Then it came back together in an instant, reforming the battle avatar. It was like some form of sympathetic teleportation. Again, the avatar blazed towards him. John Crow felt an interesting way about this. It was like slapping at a roach, only to realise it dodged the slipper and was buzzing in for revenge. He tried to remain calm. This time, his accelerated mind allowed him to spot the source of her speed. Those mantis arms of hers had a propulsion system, leaving behind gaseous trails that told the tail. Fine. He had propulsion of his own. He sent her another tentacle. It¡¯s dim bomb blasts zigzagged it after her evading avatar. It herded her into another tentacle. The two collided in a devastating detonation. Did he get her? John Crow noticed another avatar on the opposite side of his building. An innocuously small ball of crimson lightning brewing before its palms. The crackling orb roared to life, swelling to the size of a chattel house and growing. Had she been charging this attack while the mantis avatar distracted him? His tentacle whipped at her. She vanished in a rush of lightning that reconstituted her body a distance away. Arms extended as though nothing had happened, she regrew the plasma ball even faster. Now, this avatar ¡­ he had some interesting feelings about it too. Somewhere along the lines of realising tiny fires were springing up around the room, but they wouldn¡¯t stay tiny if he didn¡¯t do something about them yesterday. ¡­ He wasn¡¯t panicking ¡­ He was simply acknowledging the scenario for what it was. Sure, the mantis-armed avatar had respawned behind him. Sure, some less-than-manly sounds came out of his mouth as he fought a three-way battle, but real men didn¡¯t worry about such things. They just fought until the very last. Nonetheless, what little excess mental energy he had in the heat of battle was at a loss. How did Amy get so fast, so powerful? She shouldn¡¯t have been this much of a handful with the brainflies still about. It must have taken everything she had just to operate on this level. In that case, why would she waste time and energy hiding Mr. Brusque¡¯s tentacle? Come to think of it, what on Earth had she done with it? ~ Amy squeezed the over-sized tentacle through the front door of an abandoned Allmart. It wasn¡¯t quite a front door anymore, though. Not after she put it through that. The tentacle took up quite a lot of space, so she hovered it over the aisles so they wouldn¡¯t be crushed. Her biomass scrutinised the products before settling on some shapes that felt right. She floated them closer just to be sure. Floodlights. Perfect! Clustering them together, she angled the lights into the air and cleared her biomass from above them. Amy fabricated some of the meanest blades she¡¯d ever made, decked along the length of the tentacle. It reminded her of the macuahuitl, a weapon of the Aztec warriors. Its purpose would be similar too. Nodding at her handiwork, Amy carefully channeled currents into the floodlights. Their light falteringly fluxed to life. Her biomass recoiled away from it, emitting something between a growl and a screech. ¡°Shush,¡± Amy rebuked as she focused on stabilising the current. She floated a ¡®Kiss the Chef¡¯ apron onto her chest, pausing for a moment to squint at it. In a fraction of a second, her aerosol stained several extra lines into the fabric. Now, it read: ¡°Kiss the Chef ..." ¡°¡­ but if you¡¯re not Norman, take a hike. ¡°Sorry, that was really mean ?. ¡°Why am I even writing this? ¡°Because it¡¯s funny and it keeps you sane. ¡°Since when was I sane? ¡°Okay, saner than you could be. ¡°Don¡¯t even THINK about kissing the chef unless you¡¯re Norman. He had the audacity to peck me on the cheek in public, and I LIKED IT! He has no filter and I does love he BAAAD for it! >///<.¡± She smilingly nodded down at the scribbly rant and suspended the tentacle above the floodlights. It was impossible to keep her aerokinesis clear of the light entirely. Crystalline ash fell to the ground as the edges of her atmosphere seared in the radiance. The tentacle thrashed wildly, flattening over a dozen aisles. Amy slapped it. ¡°Behave!¡± The tentacle stilled. She resumed the process of hovering it at the edge of the floodlights. The brunt of the light missed the tentacle, but it was enough to singe. She protected it with thin layers of dead, ashy biomass. The more that died, the better the shield. Most of the floodlight hit the blades running along the tentacles. Red turned to glassy black as the light roasted her blades to perfection. It looked like obsidian, but she was forging something much tougher than fragile volcanic glass. Hopefully, it would be just as sharp as the crystal it resembled. Of course, cooking herself was more than a little uncomfortable. Amy didn¡¯t care. She whistled a merry little tune, punctuated by small yelps. ¡°Ow ¡­ ow ¡­¡­ ow-ow-ow! ¡­ Ouch ¡­¡± ~ John Crow snarled into the sound casters. Three avatars, wearing him down like a pack of wolves. The air was rich with the stench of dim bombs spammed in desperation. He could barely keep them at bay. It was a miracle that he hadn¡¯t taken any damage. Hang on ¡­ if they were so effective, why hadn¡¯t he taken damage? John Crow scanned the avatars more closely. Their signatures didn¡¯t quite match the ones he¡¯d faced in the past. Dread¡¯s range was limited, but trace amounts of its aerosol extended far beyond his building. Even those traces had sensory capabilities, like a peripheral net. He checked it for the avatars¡¯ air displacement. None. Now it all made sense! John Crow ceased all attempts at defense. The lightning ball avatars charged their attacks more ferociously. The mantis one sneered, sharpening its blades. It darted towards the control room. He resisted the reflex to block. It slashed at his flyscreen in a spectacular display of electric melee. He checked the screen¡¯s condition. No damage. The lightning ball avatars never released their attacks, because there were none to unleash. These weren¡¯t avatars. They were illusions! Figments of sound, light and radiation, brought to life by aerosol particles like floating pixels and speakers. Amy had actually figured out a functional substitute for holograms! Yes. He really needed to pick her mind. Something else caught his attention: Dread¡¯s periphery was cold. Low temperature was normal for the A.M.E. That meant it was feeding on ambient energy. Dread was a juvenile, so it took every opportunity to absorb heat and light when it could. Hence the dark, icy aura it exuded. However, this was far too cold for Dread¡¯s periphery, which meant Amy herself was drawing in energy. For what? Some super attack? He noticed her power spiking in an Allmart. It stopped being an Allmart when his dim bombs were done with it. Amy rose from the billowing clouds of sickly yellow, towing Mr. Brusque¡¯s tentacle like a serpent rearing for the strike. She banked to the side, swinging the massive tentacle in a wide arc that sent it straight towards his control room. She¡¯d decked it with blades of her biomass. He would have shot it out of the air, but her clarions turned on him. Even through layers of concrete and flesh, he heard them scream at frequencies that stung his nerves, shook his mind and pierced his soul. She must have mixed in infrasound: the power in a tiger¡¯s roar and a peeping building¡¯s cry. The power to stun prey. His eyescraper froze up, refusing to take orders. Maybe his commands were too sloppy to register. Likely both. The clarions ate away at his flyscreen. Brainflies died by the legions. Those that survived swarmed more tightly, seizing the deceased as body shields that messed with her energy, even in death. Such was the swarm¡¯s loyalty to a ¡®queen¡¯. Of course, he was no queen, but they didn¡¯t have to know that. The blades she¡¯d attached to Mr. Brusque¡¯s tentacle would lose integrity the moment they touched the fly screen. Dread¡¯s aerosol would slow down the tentacle from there. It was the perfect defense mechanism against something like her ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ But she would know that, wouldn¡¯t she? John Crow went into red alert. The blades on the tentacle weren¡¯t red. They were black. He¡¯d seen this before. When an A.M.E. was exposed to dangerous levels of light, its biomass died and formed a dark, crystalline substance. ¡®Flash ash¡¯. It was like scabbing, meant to protect the whole from further damage by blocking the light. Free-floating aerosol became flakes upon death, which could be held in place by surviving aerosol like a shield. However, if the aerosol had already hardened into a construct? The dead structure became incredibly tough. She¡¯d killed her own biomass blades to render them immune to his brainflies. There was no mental energy for the brainflies to steal. How could she do this to herself? For nyctals, light was more than a threat. It was anathema, a pain like no other. Upon exposure, their fight or flight instincts went wild: they¡¯d either head for the hills or do anything to eliminate the source, if it hadn¡¯t crippled them. She¡¯d put herself through that, on purpose, while battling him with pseudo avatars? What was she? Norman¡¯s words came back to mind: ¡°Tell me, Johnny, what does it take to override your own soul? Have you ever even tried? Amy did. She does it every day.¡± It began to make sense. Maybe she was just that strong. Maybe Amy was a true human. He shook away the thought. Of course she wasn¡¯t. True humans were far more than that. Perhaps she was on the path to becoming one, but if anyone were to be a true human, it would be him. If he couldn¡¯t surpass her, he didn¡¯t deserve to become human. Easier said than done. Those blades were going to decapitate his eyescraper! John Crow forced his tentacles into the air. Despite its inferior size, hers cleaved straight through his own. However, the goal wasn¡¯t to block her. It was to redirect her. Even if she sliced through his defenses like an oar through water, the flow of the water could push back. His rapidly rising tentacles struck hers perpendicularly, creating an upward current of sorts that pushed her strike skyward. He heard the sound of a blade nicking concrete. Her tentacle had clipped off the edge of the top floor as it deflected into the air. A dim bomb to her face broke her grip and the bladed tentacle hurtled from her claws. He did a double take when it split a building in half. Amid clouds of faintly glowing dim bomb, he glimpsed her silhouette. The avatar looked to be halfway blown apart. One side appeared mostly humanoid and intact. The other was pulling back together in slithering streams of sinuous tendrils. A multitude of eyes rippling across her body before vanishing fast enough to be imagined. Her atmosphere quavered in a rumbling hum that he felt in his heart more than heard. The world warped to its undulating tones. There was a vague sense that he hadn¡¯t simply damaged her. He had exposed her for what she truly was. The hum morphed into Amy¡¯s voice, booming from all directions. ¡°???????R????E???????D????? ??????T????????I???????D?????????E???????.????????¡±?????? His sensors went mad. Part 26 - Eye of the Storm "???????RED??????????? TI??????????D?????E,???????"?????? Amy boomed. John Crow¡¯s sensors went mad. Her biomass bent and imploded behind him. A raging current of aerosol came surging in like a tsunami. Though it moved several stories above the tallest building, the sheer atmospheric disruption was enough to tear off AC vents and satellite dishes. Yanking out curtains, it gutted the contents of upper floors through long-shattered windows. In the midst of its mass, he saw ethereal forms: toothy whirlpools big enough to devour whales; long, ravening things writhing forth like sea serpents; taloned tentacles the size of highways. For the first time, his eyescraper felt small. The Red Tide was a force of nature, moving at a speed hurricane force winds could only envy. John Crow unloaded a river of dim bomb into the tide. His blasts, once crashing through Mr. Brusque¡¯s defenses, scarcely even slowed her down. He remembered his flyscreen. At his command, brainflies redirected to block the tentacles. The building shook as they made impact. He almost fell out of the air where his dreadlocks suspended him at the centre of the room. The eyescraper slid several metres, but it did not fall. Her raw power nearly smothered his flyscreen. It took almost every brainfly available ¡­ redirected to the back of the building ¡­ leaving little to guard the front from the cackling mantis avatar rushing in that may or may not have been real ¡­ ¡­ He was ready to go home now ¡­ John Crow had decided: It was time to commit a war crime, or as close as nyctals got to those. In spite of their savagery, there was one rule almost unanimously agreed upon. Never, ever, use light as a weapon. The catch was that the dim bombs were one chemical away from a ¡®bright bomb¡¯. Shameless schemer that he was, he pumped that very chemical into the tentacles that still had some juice left, withdrawing all the rest. Yellow pustules burnt bright, searing at the tentacles that squeezed them outwards. Night turned to day. ( ( PTLLOOOOOOOM! ) ) The firing tentacles died instantly. Amy¡¯s Red Tide collapsed. Landlords screamed and fell. Brainflies dropped like rain. He¡¯d directed the blast away from his eyescraper, but the secondary light was enough to make it spasm. Cracks spread through the building¡¯s concrete and bone, but it didn¡¯t die. Suddenly, the world went dark. John Crow¡¯s sensors revealed nothing. The silence was loud. His heartrate somehow managed to increase all the more. A normal ¡®human¡¯s¡¯ heart would have exploded. This darkness ¡­ it had to be Dread and Amy¡¯s defense mechanism. The two A.M.E.s had blacked out the area with their flash ash. Yes, that had to be it, but it wouldn¡¯t spare them entirely. He could sense Dread¡¯s distress. If his A.M.E. was reeling from the indirect light, Amy had to be in a critical state, right? ¡­ Right? . ¡°??????????????O?????????????????O??????????????????????O??????????M?????????????????????M??????????M????????O??????????????????? ????????????????????.??????????????.???????????????.??????????????????????? ?????????????O?????????????????O???????????M???????????M?????????????M?????????????????? ??????????????¡­?????????¡±?????????????? . John Crow¡¯s heartbeat stuttered and pounded even harder. That world-shaking cry ¡­ it was like the bay of wolves, the song of whales, the moan of a phantoms, the lament of the grieving. It called to his soul, and his soul shriveled back. Dread was having a panic attack, clinging to his skull like a petrified puppy. Another sensory sweep. Yes, there was definitely flash ash out there. Its crystalline structure held together like layers of frost, separating the building from the outside world. He almost cleared it away with the eyescraper¡¯s tentacles, then thought better of it. 1) They needed time to regenerate. He couldn¡¯t even feel the tentacles that unleashed the blast. 2) He really, really didn¡¯t want to know what was out there. ?????? ???????.??????????? ?????? ???????????.????????? ¡°?????????????????????????????O????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O???????????????????????????M?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M??????????????????????????????????????? ???.?????.????.????¡±???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??? ????????????????????????????????????????????¡°?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????.????.???.????¡±??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??? ????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????¡°?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????!???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????!?????????????????????????????????????????????!?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????¡±????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???? .????????????????? ??????????? ???????????.???????????? ???? The flash ash collapsed under the haunting cry¡¯s vibrations. Her red atmosphere leaked in once again. Cold terror sank its claws into him. Inhuman eyes filled the skies around his eyescraper. Spawned from Amy¡¯s atmosphere, they ranged in size from cars to buildings. The world seemed to warp and tremble under the force of their gaze. Phantasmic blasts of red plasma curdled in the sky. Their power hummed in the air, almost deafening. They peered into and through him. Intricate concentric circles spiraled out around void-black slit pupils like tears in reality. The prey within told him not to move, not to breathe. Just look away. Try as he may, he couldn¡¯t. Their gaze transfixed him like a moth to the flame. As icy brain fog crept in, his mind squeezed out a vague sense of shame. Here he was, challenging Amy, yet he could barely look at her. Then his gut spoke up, intuiting a different interpretation. This wasn¡¯t Amy. ~ Mr. Perk awoke with a sharp breath. Why did everything hurt? He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d been out for too long, yet he might as well have been air dropped in another universe. The world seemed wrong, from the air to his perception of time and space. A red tint alit the clouds. He noticed a hum that seemed to buzz at the back of his skull. Covering his ears did no good. For starters, he couldn¡¯t even reach them. He¡¯d forgotten about the noise mitigation helmet, but if that hum was affecting him even while he wore it, taking it off would be a bad idea. He strained to his feet and spotted the twitching clingshot lying nearby. Oh. Right. That happened. .?????.??????.???????.???.??????.?????????.????????.????????.?????.????????.???????.????????.???????.?????????.???.????????.?????.????????.????????.??????.???.??????.??????.???????.??????.???? ???.???.???????.??????.?????.????.????????.??????.???????.???????.?????.??????.???????.???????.???????.???????.??????.???.????????.????.???.?????.???????.??????.?????????.?????????.????? ?????????.???????.??????.???.?????.????.????????.??????.?????.??????.?????????.????????.???????.????.??????.?????.?????????.??????.?????????.?????.??????.??????.????????.??????.???.??????.?????? ???????.????????.????.???.????????.????????.???.??????.???.?????.????.???????.???.??????.???????.??????.?????.??????.??????.???????.?????.???.????????.??????.??????.????.????? ???.????.?????.????????.?????.??????.??????.??????.???????.???????.?????.??????.??????.?????.??????.?????.??????.???????.??????.???????.??????.???????.?????.???.?????????.?????.?????? ???????.????.??????.??????.??????.?????.????.????????.??????.???????.????.????.?????????.?????.??????.????.????????.????????.????????.?????.????????.?????????.?????????.???????.?????.???????.??????? ???.??????.????????.?????.?????.??????.??????.????.??????.??????.???.???.??????.??????.?????.????????.??????.????.??????.????.?????.??????.???????.???????.????????.?????????.????? ???????.?????????.???????.?????.???.?????????.??????.????.???????.?????.????.?????.????????.??????.?????.??????.???????.?????.???.??????.??????.????.????????.????????.??????.??????.????.????.????This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ???????.????.???????.?????.??????.??????.????????.???????.??????.????????.??????.?????.??????.?????????.??????.?????.??????.?????.??????.?????.?????.????.??????.???.????????.?????.????.???.????.?????.????.???? ¡°???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????O???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????A?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????M???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????!?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????¡±????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? .???.???.???.????.?????.????.???.???.???.????.???.????.?????.?????.????.???.????.????.???.?????.???.???.????.???.?????.???.???.????.?????.????.???? ???.????.???.????.???.????.????.????.???.????.???.????.????.???.?????.?????.?????.???.?????.????.???.????.?????.?????.????.????.????.????.???? ????.?????.???.????.???.?????.?????.????.????.????.???.???.????.????.????.???.????.????.???.???.????.?????.????.????.???.????.???? ???.????.???.????.?????.????.???.????.????.????.?????.????.???.???.????.????.?????.???.????.????.????.?????.???.???.????.????.??? ?????.?????.????.????.????.???.????.????.???.???.???.?????.????.???.????.?????.?????.????.?????.???.?????.?????.????.????.?????.???.???? ?????.???.?????.????.????.???.???.????.????.????.????.????.?????.????.?????.???.????.????.?????.???.????.?????.?????.????.????.????.??? ????.???.???.???.???.????.????.?????.???.???.????.???.???.????.????.????.???.????.????.????.????.?????.?????.????.???.?????.???? ????.?????.????.?????.????.?????.?????.????.?????.???.????.???.????.?????.????.?????.????.?????.?????.?????.?????.???.????.?????.????.?????.????? ????.?????.?????.????.?????.????.?????.????.???.?????.????.????.???.????.????.????.????.????.?????.?????.????.?????.????.?????.???.????.???? Mr. Perk froze. He¡¯d heard a lot of awful things during his time as a nyctal, but that might have been the worst. The sound almost convinced his lunch to pack up and peace out. Where was that redness coming from anyway? Last he checked, Amy didn¡¯t generate this much light, although it still wasn¡¯t enough to hurt a nyctal. He dragged himself to the corner of the building on which the clingshot had been perched, then peeked past it. ¡­ Nope ¡­ nope-nope-nope ¡­ so much nope ¡­ Running was a tempting prospect. Forget loyalty. The Landlords didn¡¯t deserve the dirt under his shoes. He touched the explosive strapped to his back. It might as well have been a leash. Better than a noose, which was what it would become if John Crow kicked the bucket. That was the least of his reasons not to turn tail right there and then. Mr. Perk socketed his keychain into the clingshot¡¯s control cavity. Contrary to popular belief, landlords were not limited to peeping buildings. The sting of their keychain could create control cavities on just about any creature, given a few days. The title of ¡®landlord¡¯ was not merely a reflection of their eldritch buildings. They, truly, believed themselves to be the inheritors of the Earth. If it came to that, he would be getting off the planet at the next stop. The clingshot¡¯s nervous system fell into rank beneath his own. He flexed his hands. The forelimbs bent, following his movements. It looked to be in critical condition. The exoskeleton was a mess ¡­ what was left of it, anyway. However, most of the damage was superficial. He could still pilot. ~ One by one, the eyes in the sky began to close. They vertically vanished as though veiled behind invisible curtains. John Crow began to breathe again. He didn¡¯t realise he¡¯d been holding stopped. No matter. He¡¯d sent out a distress call to the brainflies, summoning more from across the battlefield. Hives within his building emptied their contents to get that flyscreen back up and running as fast as possible. Amy would be in no shape to stop him. Readings suggested she¡¯d lost about 20% of her biomass. It sounded small, but the rest of her had to have suffered a fair share of exposure, even if it survived. Nevertheless, the readings revealed an energy anomaly behind one of the last remaining eyes. Besides, this eye didn¡¯t close. Another illusion? Yes ¡­ but not quite ¡­ its patterns didn¡¯t mentally affect him like the others did, so it had to be a decoy. However, the sensors¡¯ scrutiny revealed a shape behind the illusion that matched it almost perfectly. Had she taken advantage of the A.M.E.¡¯s threat display to hide her newest construct? The illusory eye collapsed, revealing an organ that looked similarly ocular. However, he had reason to believe it wasn¡¯t another eye. It merely resembled one. The crimson plasma whipping around it told the tale of a different purpose. Ambient temperature plummeted as it drained energy from its surroundings, lighting up on his sensors like a miniature star in the icy void of space. Its hum escalated as the charging process reached its peak. *wmm wmm WMM WMMM ¡­* Amy¡¯s battle avatar manifested atop the organ. Her four arms spread like a falcon on its perch, poised to descend upon prey. For a moment, the world grew still. The pseudo-eye¡¯s hunger had drained even the soundwaves from the air. Then Amy¡¯s all-encompassing voice rippled out. "EYE??????? OF????????? ????????THE????????? ??????ST????O?????????RM." ... ( ( Kr-KOOOOM! ) ) Titanic torrents of crimson lightning poured forth from the organ, crashing against John Crow¡¯s fly screen cataclysmically. This wasn¡¯t the wild, flailing lightninig storm she¡¯d unleashed against Mr. Brusque and his party. It was focused, elemental power. John Crow¡¯s building squeezed its eyes shut. Protective shells slid into place to defend them. Her lightning was bright enough to burn a nyctal. However, Amy and the brainflies had too much in common. In some ways, they were like miniature versions of her. Their swarms were more than the ultimate Faraday cage. They could absorb, redirect and disperse energy to a staggering degree. Her lightning should have been enough to punch through several buildings and just keep going. Instead, it splashed and thrashed against the flyscreen which desperately swarmed to block her. Brainflies died at an alarming rate, but there were always more. Amy¡¯s lightning sputtered. A shadow of a smirk touched John Crow¡¯s petrified face. She was reaching her limit. Flash ash fell like snow. Amy felt her biomass dying under the brightness of her own light. The damage was stacking up on her end, but John Crow remained untouchable. She¡¯d never let him know, but she was hurt bad. That bright bomb was like a bullet wound, maybe worse. Her biomass itched and burnt, begging her to shed the most afflicted aerosol, flee and recover. With the way her lightning faltered, maybe he¡¯d figured it out. Could she cripple him before her power flatlined? Hazy lethargy pressed at the edges of her mind, manifesting thoughts unbidden. They told her that it was okay. She could rest. She should rest. This wasn¡¯t working. She felt- ¡°YEAH! THAT¡¯S MY GIRL!¡± Norman whooped at the edge of her senses. She felt like a million bucks! Amy roared. Her voice was like thunder shredding the heavens; magma ripping up through the Earth¡¯s crust; a tsunami devouring the shore; a glacier crashing into the ocean; the unified cry of a battlefield; the bellow of behemoths too great to be slain. The Storm¡¯s Eye focused its lightning into a raging stream like a beam. She sacrificed her most damaged biomass around it. Flash ash swirled like a black blizzard, blanketing Sun-bright lightning so that it didn¡¯t kill the rest of her. The Eye of the Storm was dying, but she couldn¡¯t care less. If John Crow¡¯s bright bomb were a bullet, this would be her nuclear decapitation strike. The air boiled in John Crow¡¯s control room. His building¡¯s shelled eyelids fialed in their task. The light was making it through. He could see the glow red-hot behind the neurological flesh coating the room. It began to steam, to fry. It smelt like sea eggs. This wasn¡¯t working. He wasn¡¯t ready to reveal his cards, not to Amy, not to the world. Nyctal or not, if the powers that be found out that he had a finger in the pie, they¡¯d come down on him like wolves. He wasn¡¯t ready to face them. Even so, he would not lose to this upstart monster girl. Deep within the eyescraper, a mercury engine began to spin ~ Mr. Perk¡¯s clingshot idled on the side of a building, awaiting commands. None came. At first, Mr. Perk merely stared. It was all he could do. Amy¡¯s attack sounded like the end of the world. Her lightning blazed through a colossal tunnel vortex of flash ash which insulated the brightness from the rest of her. Even so, the light that got through was enough to make his eyes water. How was Amy generating this much light, and surviving it? She¡¯d taken a bright bomb big enough to end him and his men ten thousand times over, then unleashed an attack that could do the same and more! His clingshot was nothing. He¡¯d known it before, but now, more than ever, it sunk in. In the world of monsters, Amy didn¡¯t stand at the peak. Her throne was on the clouds. He snapped out of it. If she wielded nuclear power, he wielded a gutterperk. However, both weapons had something in common: a human stood behind them all. It didn¡¯t matter if the human commanded armies. The pebble of a gutterperk could wreck his eye nonetheless. Mr. Perk didn¡¯t know if he still qualified as human, but the principle applied all the same. Even nukes bowed to the power of the atom. The other snipers were locked in combat with Amy¡¯s clarions. They were winning, but once she was done with John Crow, she¡¯d sweep them up like ants. He scanned the flash ash with is scope. Tears clouded his searing eyes. ¡­¡­ He spotted her. A clarion stopped at the edge of his vision. It had spotted him. How did he know? The beginnings of a shriek pounding at his eardrums might have tipped him off. Mr. Perk swung his clingshot behind the building a split second before the sonic attack tagged him. The clarion would be there soon. He needed to finish the job fast. He stared at the wall, one of several blocking her from his line of sight. It was a distraction. So, he closed his eyes. Photographic memory painted the scene across his imagination: the lightning, the ash ¡­ Amy. He aimed the clingshot at the wall. Could he do it? No. It was impossible, but he¡¯d do it anyway, because he had to. Mr. Perk fired the clingshot through the building. He leapt off a decisecond later. For a fraction of a moment, the building didn¡¯t seem to realise it had been shot though. Then it imploded on his side and exploded on the other, torn apart by the atmospheric disruption of the bullet more than the impact. His clingshot hit the ground scuttling as the building collapsed behind him. A wave of dust and debris stung its ankles. As Mr. Perk rounded a corner, he heard Amy¡¯s super attack die down, felt the tension ebb from the atmosphere. ¡­ Had he done it ¡­? He peeked past the building. Amy¡¯s ash vortex dissipated. Her lightning flickered away. He saw the dim crimson glow of her avatar, just ¡­ floating there. Ruptured strips of neon flesh fell beneath her. They were what remained of The Eye of the Storm. Mr. Perk gazed through his scope. He did a double take. A triple take. Amy had caught it. She caught his bullet. All four of her arms clutched the ultra-dense projectile. Those things knocked her around in the past. How had she stopped one completely? Mr. Perk¡¯s eyes were drawn to her face. Despite the distance, she was looking right at him. Her visage transitioned through a variety of expressions: Weariness, curiosity, confusion, annoyance, pity(?), scorn, rage, rage, RAGE. Tranquil fury. Amy smiled. Winked. She raised a dome of flash ash like a tent. All within her atmosphere disappeared. The snipers would have a hard time piercing the smokescreen. Maybe they couldn¡¯t reach her anymore. However, intuition told him that she could, and would, reach him. ~Run,~ whispered his gut. He piloted the clingshot to a hasty trot. ¡°KEEEEEEE!¡± A clarion¡¯s call had crashed into the spot where he stood. It ripped rainwater from the road like sea spray. ~Run ¡­ run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run-run-runrunRUNRUNRUN!~ Part 27 - Back to the Norm I One month before The Eye of the Storm ¡­ ~ Liver punch. Neck strike. Knuckle to eye. Palm to nose. Then a bite, because why not? Sure, it was dangerous to get his head so close to an opponent who could probably rip it off in one go, but with a window of opportunity? It could work wonders, especially the psychological effect. The idea of being bitten wasn¡¯t exactly easy on the nerves. There was some actual technique to it: maximum damage, get in and out fast. He may have been one of the few people on Earth who knew how to bite on the calibre of a martial art. In a nutshell, Norman attacked like a rabid animal some madman had taught how to fight. And it was just a training dummy. Emphasis on was. He¡¯d be needing a new one real soon. After fifteen minutes straight of pummeling the ever-loving daylight out of it in creative ways. Then he stopped. Not out of exhaustion, but because the dummy had fallen over despite his precautions against that. He stared down at it. Now would be a good time to take a break, right? ¡­ In a sec. Norman spiraled through the air, roaring. His kick thundered down into the dummy¡¯s abdomen. The cracking impact echoed through the gym workshop hybrid. Panting, he glowered at the dummy¡¯s caved chest. Okay. Now it was time to take a break. Sweat lathered his body, but he was barely tired: one perk of prolonged exposure to the city¡¯s hyperbaric atmosphere. He snatched up a towel and put it to good use while chugging a chilled concoction from a bottle. Picking up a second bottle, he held it behind him. ¡°Hey Wade. Want one?¡± offered Norman. Silence, then a massive hand took the drink. Lumbering to take a seat beside him was a man, 6¡¯7¡±, built like a bear. Wade popped off the top and sniffed the contents. ¡°You gonna tell me what¡¯s in this?¡± ¡°Wild Apan mushrooms, kefir, coconut water, egg ¡­¡± Norman explained, waving off the gist of it. ¡°An energy-rich brew for rapid recovery, muscle maintenance and just about everything else. There is no understating how good this stuff is.¡± ¡°¡®Brew¡¯, huh?¡± Wade smiled. ¡°Ya got me all excited, but I don¡¯t smell any beer in here.¡± Wade took a deep drink. ¡°It¡¯s good, though,¡± he admitted. ¡°That it is,¡± Norman agreed. ¡°So, how¡¯d ya know I was there?¡± asked Wade. ¡°I heard your footsteps,¡± Norman shrugged. Wade raised an eyebrow. ¡°I don¡¯t walk loudly.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I listened closely.¡± ¡°Why would you be listening for me?¡± ¡°¡®Cause you were coming.¡± Norman smiled and sipped his beverage without elaborating. Wade¡¯s deadpan stare demanded answers, but none came. Norman made it sound like the simplest, most obvious explanation ever, as if it made any sense. Despite his size, Wade¡¯s skill was tried and true when it came to stealthy takedowns. Norman shouldn¡¯t have heard him coming, but the guy was annoyingly evasive about these things. The man looked at the rings of water remaining where the bottles stood. ¡°Lots of condensation over there,¡± Wade declared. ¡°You¡¯ve had both bottles out for, what? Five minutes?¡± ¡°Sevenish.¡± ¡°You knew I was coming.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°So you ¡®heard my footsteps¡¯ while I was still half a block down the road?¡± ¡°What are you trying to say?¡± asked Norman. ¡°You bugged me,¡± stated Wade. Norman huffed a laugh. ¡°Why?¡± Wade paused, rethinking his conspiracy theory. ¡°You have a far-reaching surveillance system that monitors the whole neighbourhood.¡± ¡°Do you think I¡¯d happen to check some vast surveillance system every time you¡¯re rolling in?¡± countered Norman. The way Norman looked at him. It was casual, as usual. Not exactly disrespectful, but it was the same way Wade looked at his little cousin. Wade towered over just about everyone, dominating the room the moment he walked in. Looking down on them wasn¡¯t a choice, or an insult. It was a fact of his stature, and a life in military and MMA that forged him into the man he was. He knew what he was about, and he would not be shaken. His aura bore down on those around him without even trying. Then there was Norman. Wade couldn¡¯t figure him out. Norman wasn¡¯t tall, but he wasn¡¯t short either. His height fit squarely within ¡®average¡¯. He was exceptionally fit, but not bulky. The height difference forced him to look up at Wade. Still, there was this sense that every time their eyes met, he was looking down. Wade was the one forced to look up. It was the way a lion looked down upon buffalo. Pound for pound, a buffalo could trounce a lone lion any day, but when it came to Norman? Wade had to wonder. ¡°I¡¯m fighting you today,¡± Wade declared. Norman frowned at him the way a father would when his son asked for help to jump the car with his bike. ¡°Not a good idea,¡± Norman stated. ¡°You know I¡¯m a UFC top ranker, right?¡± pressed Wade. ¡°I know,¡± Norman nodded. Wade rocked to his feet. ¡°Then what¡¯s stoppin¡¯ ya? C¡¯mon, Norman. Let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not doing that,¡± Norman declared. ¡°Norman, if there¡¯s one thing I love about The Night Shift, it¡¯s the hyperbaric whatchamacallit. Injuries heal times faster. There¡¯s never been a better time to duke it out. I promise I¡¯ll take it easy on ya until we¡¯ve felt things out. Then you tell me if you wanna continued.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you feel ashamed, picking on a little guy such as I?¡± teased Norman. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that,¡± Wade admonished. Norman¡¯s aura darkened as he calmly, firmly, made himself clear. ¡°Wade, if I fight you right now, I¡¯m going to kill you.¡± Wade blinked and searched his eyes. Norman was dead serious. Why would he-? Wait ¡­ what was that thing? Wade strode over to it. Behind the punching bag and clutter on the sidelines was some kind of dummy. It was huge. The closer he got, the more its inhuman features came to fore. At eight feet tall, it loomed over him. A massive, dreadlocked wig was affixed to its skull. Dark grey skin adorned its lean, sinewy frame. Its dagger teeth were on full display in a predatory grin. Wade felt his hair stand on end. He¡¯d seen his fair share or horrors, but this one evoked primal phobias he didn¡¯t know he had. ¡°Norman, who¡¯s this handsome fella?¡± Wade asked tentatively. ¡°You mean Johnny Boy? Just a custom dummy I made,¡± Norman nonchalantly explained. ¡°¡­ Why?¡± pressed Wade. ¡°Saw that jerk in a nightmare. He was messing with Amy. Ticked me off so much that I made something to punch in his likeness.¡± Wade nodded slowly. ¡°He a nyctal?¡± ¡°Who knows?¡± Norman shrugged. Wade¡¯s eyes wandered down the monster¡¯s form. ¡°You caved his chest.¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°I can see where you been hittin¡¯ him. Most of those strikes are illegal in MMA.¡± ¡°Uh huh.¡± Wade turned to him. ¡°Oh, now I really gotta fight you.¡± Norman¡¯s fist was an inch from his face. Wade stared down the knuckles. When had Norman moved? How had he gotten there so fast? Wade hadn¡¯t even heard him. That punch ¡­ it¡¯d been destined for his nose. Big guy or not, his nose was as vulnerable as anyone else¡¯s. It would have been nasty. ¡°Sorry. That wasn¡¯t fair,¡± Norman apologised, drawing back the fist. ¡°Of course, nothing¡¯s fair in a real fight. You get the next move. I¡¯ll react accordingly.¡± Wade stepped back without a word, sizing up Norman. He threw a punch.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Norman wasn¡¯t there to take it. Wade felt a light tap and looked down to see Norman¡¯s knuckles at his liver. There¡¯d be no getting up from a punch like that. Wade lunged down to grapple. Norman should have followed through. This was a fight, after all. ¡°This wasn¡¯t a fight,¡± Norman calmly declared. Wade was on his back. What just happened? Apparently, Norman had yanked his legs from beneath him. ¡°Come back when you¡¯re stronger,¡± Norman smirked, extending a hand to help up the giant. Wade hissed out a laugh, shaking his head as he accepted the hand. ¡°What are you? Training for isekai?¡± ¡°This city¡¯s crazy enough as it is,¡± Norman reasoned, absent-mindedly hoisting Wade to his feet like the guy weighed nothing. ¡°Yeah,¡± Wade nodded cynically. ¡°I got that from the fact that you made a dummy in the likeness of an imaginary fiend messing with your girl.¡± ¡°She¡¯s not my girl,¡± Norman corrected. ¡°She better be,¡± Wade teased. ¡°Man, the moment she pulled that switchblade on yo neck, I was like ¡®ohohoo! I see you shawty!¡¯ Girl didn¡¯t even flinch when you twisted it outa her wrist! Then you guys locked eyes like kitties in a stare down. It was chef¡¯s kiss perfection!¡± Norman gave him a funny look. ¡°¡®Ey! Don¡¯t stare at me like that!¡± Wade chastened. ¡°You¡¯re the one who hangs out with her every other day!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t miss that phase of our friendship,¡± Norman mused. Wade shook his head. ¡°Friendship? Norman, if you don¡¯t snatch her up, I¡¯m baggin¡¯ that baddie.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to see you try,¡± Norman challenged. Even in jest, the quiet intensity in his voice was palpable. ¡°WoOOo, scary!¡± Wade chuckled, in part to shake off the effect Norman¡¯s resting air of danger had on him. ¡°Anyway, before I head off on some long spiritual journey to ¡®get strong¡¯ or whatever, ya gotta grant me one thing. Tell me, how¡¯d ya know I was coming?¡± Norman thought about it for a second. ¡°Hm ¡­ truth is I¡¯m probably dreaming,¡± Wade squinted. ¡°¡­ What?¡± ¡°If I¡¯m right, then you¡¯re not here yet,¡± Norman reasoned. ¡°I¡¯m more sensitive to things like that when I¡¯m dreaming.¡± ¡°So you think I¡¯m some imaginary figment?¡± Wade asked, side-eying him. ¡°Something like that,¡± Norman supposed simply. ¡°This look unreal to you?¡± Wade scoffed, flexing a muscle. ¡°No,¡± Norman conceded. ¡°You look real, but then again so do fake plants, well-crafted NPCs and politicians. Seeming real has nothing to do with being real.¡± Wade snorted as he strode for the door. ¡°Alright. You win. No point botherin¡¯ you when you¡¯re not even conscious. Besides, I get the feeling you¡¯re here to meet someone else.¡± That got Norman¡¯s attention. ¡°Really? Who?¡± ¡°Why would I tell you that?¡± grinned Wade. ¡°Let it eat at you a little. You think you¡¯re Him? Nah. You¡¯ll know a real Him when you see one.¡± Norman stupsed. ¡°Wonna malicious.¡± ¡°Dah fuh lick yuh!¡± Wade called out as he slammed the door behind him. Norman smirkingly rolled his eyes and sat back, staring at the ceiling. Night would fall soon. He¡¯d set up a myriad of mostly automated defenses around the building, but that wouldn¡¯t matter if he was indeed dreaming. He froze. Whether a shift in the air or a subtle sound, a new presence touched the edge of his senses. He hadn¡¯t heard it coming, but he could see it at the side of his eye. Someone, or something, was sitting beside him. Norman¡¯s punch was faster than thought. A single point of contact stopped it. Was that ¡­ a finger?? All his training, thwarted by a finger?!? The owner of the finger peeked past his fist. ¡°Don¡¯t be too hard on yourself. Your reaction speed was excellent.¡± Norman scrutinised the newcomer. To say this man looked like a Greek god would be an insult. Greek gods could only wish they looked like that. Those piercing eyes ¡­ could it be? ¡°Bro! It¡¯s you!¡± Norman exclaimed, pulling The Brother into a hearty hug. ¡°I hardly recognise you sometimes! How have you been? Wait, stupid question. My head would explode.¡± ¡°No, I like when you guys ask that,¡± smiled The Brother. ¡°It¡¯s the same way I like talking to you, even if I know what you¡¯re going to say.¡± Norman soaked in that smile like rays of sunshine. It had been such a long time ¡­ ¡°¡­ But my head would explode, right?¡± Norman pressed. ¡°Of course not,¡± The Brother assured. ¡°You¡¯d experience brain death long before you reach 1% ¡­ which you never would, even if that didn¡¯t happen.¡± ¡°Anticlimactic, then,¡± Norman joked. ¡°Yup,¡± The Brother agreed. ¡°I can give you the long short of it pertaining to this moment, though.¡± The Brother¡¯s gaze seeped deep into Norman¡¯s soul, brimming with warm admiration. An effervescent laugh erupted from The Brother. The next thing Norman knew, he¡¯d been scooped up and cradled like a small animal. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I am very happy to see you!¡± The Brother summarised. Norman was, well, a little confused. When had The Brother picked him up? He was casually too fast for Norman¡¯s reflexes. It made sense, but it was almost embarrassing. Oh ¡­ now The Brother was snuggling. Under ordinary circumstances, Norman wouldn¡¯t get caught dead like this, and yet he couldn¡¯t get enough of it. He would have purred if anatomically possible. At least Wade wasn¡¯t there to see him. Norman glimpsed a hand injury and winced. ¡°Wait, that hasn¡¯t healed yet?¡± ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t heal,¡± The Brother answered flippantly. ¡°¡­ Was it worth it?¡± Norman asked quietly. The Brother squeezed him closer. ¡°Of course it was. A thousand times over, you were worth it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see how,¡± Norman confessed. ¡°I¡¯m, well, I¡¯m not much, and the rest of us aren¡¯t either. The training is like learning to waddle while all the big kids fly at FTL.¡± ¡°Does a mother lament her baby¡¯s inability to walk, talk and fall in step with the march of society?¡± asked The Brother. ¡°No. He¡¯s her son. He remains her son, no matter what. You¡¯re confused because you don¡¯t know what a human is, and what they look like when they grow up. You¡¯re still a baby, but I don¡¯t care. We¡¯re brothers, and I love you all the same. That will not, and cannot, change.¡± Norman pondered it all. The Brother¡¯s words were warm, physically warm. He didn¡¯t understand how that worked, but he savoured it. ¡°However, plans can change,¡± The Brother noted. ¡°Norman, you¡¯re not the head of the spear anymore.¡± The fuzzy feelings in Norman¡¯s chest ceased their dance. That sentence hit with the force of a meteor. ¡°W-Why?¡± croaked Norman. ¡°Remember when you were showing off your talents for Amy a couple nights ago?¡± asked The Brothers. ¡°Our enemies were observing you. They figured out what you were supposed to do.¡± Norman¡¯s mind struggled and failed to grasp the implications. Those years of preparations, gone, just like that? ¡°No. It¡¯s okay. We never sanctioned the original plan anyway,¡± The Brother chuckled. ¡°You know how they always play into Our plans. Your role remains vital. They¡¯ve figured that out too, so they¡¯ve switched things up to try and throw you off.¡± Norman, racked his mind. ¡°So, then who ¡­?¡± ¡°Norman, do you love Amy?¡± asked The Brother. Norman blinked. ¡°I, wow, that came out of nowhere. How do I even begin to answer?¡± ¡°Honestly,¡± The Brother replied. ¡°You already know,¡± Norman replied dimly. The Brother wagged a finger. ¡°Yes, but you don¡¯t. I want you to figure it out, here and now. I won¡¯t judge you.¡± Norman sighed. ¡°What kind of love are we talking about?¡± ¡°All them, especially the way I love you,¡± The Brother clarified. Norman thought about it. Minutes passed as he reevaluated his interactions with Amy, leading up to that moment. She¡¯d turned him down before, but The Brother always understood personal dynamics better than he did. Things could change. Finally, a smile settled onto his face. ¡°Yeah, I love her,¡± Norman confirmed. ¡°Not sure how it came to this. I can¡¯t believe we used to be at each other¡¯s throats, but I¡¯m so proud of her. She¡¯s come a long way. Amy is easily my best friend, and I can¡¯t imagine life without her.¡± ¡°Then love her, with everything you have,¡± implored The Brother. ¡°She¡¯s got a tricky path ahead of her, a life ripe with wonder or a slow burn death rife with nightmares. Help her choose life, and live it well. Take her hand as she climbs the mountains and walks the valleys. Be her guardrails on the straight and narrow. Together, you two can be more than enough, because I¡¯ll be in your corner every step of the way ¡­ shipping you with the might of a bajillion fandoms! Now go forth and get me a baby the right way!¡± An uncomfortable smirk squirmed its way across Norman¡¯s face. ¡°Um, what?¡± The Brother ignored it. ¡°If you can¡¯t figure out how, outsource the baby with the instruction manual I gave you!¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± Norman almost squeaked. ¡°I don¡¯t care if your daughter¡¯s seventy four and within your age group! I want that baby!¡± The Brother insisted. ¡°Since when was I seventy four!?¡± blurted Norman. Thunder rippled from the distance. He squirmed out of The Brother¡¯s grip and listened. It didn¡¯t quite sound right, which was why Norman recognised it. ¡°It¡¯s here? Now?¡± he asked, looking to The Brother for confirmation. The Brother was gone. No, that wasn¡¯t quite accurate. The Brother was always busy behind the scenes. Norman got the smaller jobs, but he wasn¡¯t alone. Norman steeled himself with a breath. What was he supposed to do? If it wasn¡¯t meant to be, should he sit this out? Norman rocked on his heels, hands in pockets as the thunder drew nearer. Well, it was definitely approaching him. Just because he wasn¡¯t head of the spear didn¡¯t mean this one was meant for someone else. The Brother¡¯s predictions seldom played out the way he expected. Until instructed otherwise, it was on him to deal with this, one way or another. He was going out there. Norman stepped outside into the cool twilight and looked up. He saw a cloud, laced with the slightest trace of pink. If he didn¡¯t know what to look for, he wouldn¡¯t have noticed it. The moment he laid eyes on that cloud, intricate concentric circles sprang to its surface, swirling as they faced him. He felt them at the borders his mind like fish hooks dangling for curious nibblers. He wasn¡¯t biting, and he wasn¡¯t impressed. An ethereal enigma of rosy pink descended from the cloud, closing in on him. Its shifting form bloomed like a flower. Its tentacles danced like a kraken of the sky. The wind picked up as it drew near, like a storm rolling in. Around Norman¡¯s home, modified searchlights standing vigil swiveled to face it, prepped to pour forth their light. He typed a few commands into his phone and they stood down. The clouds crooned a haunting song that swept across the neighbourhood, beckoning him. ¡°?????O??????O?????O???M??????M????M??????O????? ???????¡­?????¡±????? Hmm ¡­ nope. Not his taste in music. He popped in his earbuds and scrolled through a playlist, tapping a tune. Driving rock exploded from the speakers. It was the kind of song that made him feel to lock himself in a room with an eldritch horror and punch it in the face. He closed his eyes as the lyrics blared hard into his ears. ?? WITNESS, FOR THE NIGHT IS BRIGHTENING! ?? WATCH ME BLAZE A TRAIL FOR YOU! ?? I WILL BE YOUR STORM AND LIGHTNING! ?? I¡¯LL BECOME ENOUGH FOR YOU! A familiar fragrance wafted past him. He knew that aroma therapy too well. Strands of hair brushed across his cheek as the lovely scent passed him by. His eyes shot open. He saw her from the back: a short young woman with toffee skin. Her hair flailed in the wind in wispy tendrils, in tandem with the tentacles of the beast above them. Slow, mindless steps told the tale as she looked up at the concentric circles spinning in the sky. Norman didn¡¯t need to see her face. ¡°AMY!¡± he screamed. She jolted, snapping out of her trance as she spun to face him. Her big, brown eyes were alit with confusion. ¡°N-Norman?¡± Amy exclaimed. A tendril of red lightning snaked from the sky. Norman rushed in front of her. Throwing his arms around Amy, he shielded her with his body. The lightning curved over him. ( ( ZThhooOOMM! ) ) His skin stung with the secondhand lash of static electricity. She felt lighter in his arms. Her body went limp. The smell ¡­ it was unthinkable, but there was one sensory shock more horrible. Steaming between her shoulders was the gap where her head had been. Why her? She wasn¡¯t prepared for this! Norman whirled and roared at the atmospheric entity. It drifted away, apparently sated. ¡°HEY! HEY!¡± Norman raged. ¡°YOU FORGOT ME! COME BACK! I¡¯LL KILL YOU!¡± The entity halted. It spasmed, then stilled. "¡­??? ???A??M?????Y???,???? ????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????" It boomed. "???????????????? ?????????????? ??????????????? ??????????????????????????¡±???" ~ Norman jolted awake. It was late afternoon. The perils of The Night Shift had wrecked his sleeping habits, but waking up this late was strange even for him. The daylight should have brought comfort, but he hadn¡¯t heard from Amy since yesterday. That in itself was not unusual, but all things considered ¡­ He picked up his phone and made the call. It almost rang off. Finally, he got an answer. From the other end, he heard ¡­ sounds ¡­ like the moan of restless wind and lost souls. So, it had happened. ¡°¡­ Amy?¡± Norman ventured. No answer. Then, from the moans evolved something like a whale song, but not. It stopped, began again, and paused. The moments wore on. Norman massaged his brow with a heavy sigh. ¡°Take your time, Amy. I know you¡¯re disoriented. Try again.¡± He waited. The sounds returned. This time, they forced themselves into something vaguely approximating a voice. ¡°???N??????????n???????n?????????? ?????¡­??????? ??????N?????????u????????????h????????? ??????¡­????????? ???????N????o?????o?????o??????o?????r??????r???????r??????m?????a????n????n??????n??????????????¡±??? it intoned. Part 28.1 - Back to the Norm II Norman massaged his brow with a heavy sigh. ¡°Take your time, Amy. I know you¡¯re disoriented. Try again.¡± He waited. The sounds returned. This time, they forced themselves into something vaguely approximating a voice. ¡°???N??????????n???????n?????????? ?????¡­??????? ??????N?????????u????????????h????????? ??????¡­????????? ???????Noo?????oo??????o?????r??????r???????r??????m?????a????n????n??????n??????????????¡±???Amy intoned. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m here,¡± he softly declared. Her pauses were long. She sounded almost drowsy, out of sorts, like she¡¯d woken up from a deep sleep and could barely think. It was to be expected from someone who¡¯d just had her mind sucked right out of her. ¡°¡­ Y????????o?????????o ¡­¡­¡­ you???????? ????????know?????? ????????w????hat ha???ppen?????e??????d?????????????¡± she ventured. He heard something on her end. A small electrical discharge, it sounded like. She probably didn¡¯t know how to avoid making them yet. It was like sticking a toddler at the helm of a battle ship. Norman nodded. ¡°Yes. I know what happened.¡± This time, he could practically feel the thoughts behind her pause. She didn¡¯t understand why he was co calm. With no easy answer, her mind was stuck in a groggy loop. It was like jumping someone with algebra first thing in the morning. ¡°You¡¯re alive. That¡¯s why I¡¯m not running around like a chicken without a head,¡± Norman chuckled. He heard something like a one-note huff laugh. More thoughtful silence followed. ¡°¡­ ???????Am??????? I real???a-????? ???rea???????lly??? ??????aliv????????e?¡± asked Amy. ¡°Well, we¡¯re talking, aren¡¯t we?¡± Norman reasoned simply. ¡°How do you feel?¡± ¡°???Strang???e??? ???¡­??? ???not??? ???r???igh???t,???¡±??? Amy replied. ¡°???Fuz???zy ???¡­??? ???mind???.??? ??? ???I??? ???d???on¡¯???t ???¡­???.???.??? ??? ???My ???body ???¡­??? ???d???oes ???n???ot ???f???eel ???l???ike ???my ???b???ody.??? ??? ???Too??? ???big??? ???.. ???too ???¡­??? ???ever???y???where??? ???.???.???.??? ??? ???I ???don¡¯???t ???¡­??? ???feel ???l???ike??? ???me???.??? ??? ???I¡¯???m ???¡­??? ???H???ungr???r???r???rry???.???¡±??? ¡°Where are you?¡± asked Norman. ¡°???¡­??? ???I¡¯???m ???so ???sor???r???y ???¡­???¡±??? Amy apologised. It sounded like she was beginning to spiral. ¡°Amy, it¡¯s not your fault,¡± Norman assured. ¡°???No.??? ??? ???It ???is ???¡­??? ???I ???got??? ???¡­??? ???caught??? ???like??? ???a ???fool.¡±??? She throbbed a bitter approximation of a laugh. ¡°???D???on¡¯???t ???look??? ???for ???me.??? ??? ???I''m ???¡­??? ???d???a???n???g???e???r???o???u???s???sss???.??? ??? ???I ???lo-??? ???¡­??? ???I ???¡­??? ???good???b???ye,??? ???my ???dear ???friend.???¡±??? The phone went dead. Norman paced in circles, rocking on his heels. His eyes flicked about in thought. Then he bolted for the fridge, pulled out two bottles, then snatched a map from a drawer, sprawling it across a table. He tossed a bottle backwards. ¡°Hey, Wade.¡± He heard the large man snatch the bottle out of the air. ¡°¡®Ey, Norman. How¡¯d you know I was here?¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Was listening for you,¡± Norman hastily explained. ¡°Heard your footsteps. No, I haven¡¯t bugged you. No, I¡¯m not actively monitoring you on some obscure surveillance system.¡± ¡°¡®Actively¡¯ being the key word,¡± Wade noted. ¡°Yep. Also, I won¡¯t fight you,¡± Norman added. Wade blubbered. ¡°H-how did you kno-? ¡­ Whose that handsome fella?¡± ¡°¡®Johnny Boy¡¯,¡± Norman clarified. ¡°Some guy from a nightmare. Messed with Amy, so I made a dummy in his likeness. Not sure if he¡¯s a nyctal or not. Yes, I know those moves are illegal in MMA. No, I don¡¯t care.¡± Norman hadn¡¯t even looked back. Reading the room was one thing, but how was he answering all the questions Wade hadn¡¯t even asked yet? ¡°¡­ I still wanna fight you,¡± Wade asserted. He found himself lying on his back. A fast takedown, too fast. Since when had Norman even gotten there? Norman stood over him. ¡°My fighting style is not meant for humans, and I¡¯m too keyed up to tone it down. Right now, I need that edge.¡± Norman helped up Wade as though the guy weighed little more than a five-year-old. He returned to the map. Wade side-eyed him. ¡°You plannin¡¯ a war or somethin¡¯?¡± Norman raised a metallic orb over the map. ¡°¡®Or something¡¯.¡± Luminous, concentric circles spun upon the sphere. Wade¡¯s eyes glued to the object. His eyelids peeled back as it rapt his attention. ¡°What is that?¡± he asked. ¡°A family heirloom,¡± Norman replied. ¡°What¡¯s it do?¡± ¡°It lights up and looks pretty,¡± Norman clarified unhelpfully. Wade almost rolled his eyes. ¡°I highly doubt that ¡­ that ¡­¡± Those circles. He couldn¡¯t look away. They drew in his mind hook line and sinker. He ¡­ h e . . . Wade shook his head. Where was he again? A strange ball was in Norman¡¯s hands. Those spinning lights called to him. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± he asked. ¡°Family heirloom. It lights up and looks pretty,¡± Norman explained again. ¡°I highly doubt-¡± VWWMMMMMM! The ball hummed. Its light flared. Wade¡¯s mind went blank. Norman stared into the spinning circles, eyes watering as he forced his mind to stay the course. Then it was over. He jotted several marks onto the map. Okay. Now what? ¡®Several¡¯ wasn¡¯t very specific. He glanced at the orb. Another go could narrow things down, but somehow he got the impression that twitching on the ground foaming at the mouth wouldn¡¯t be a productive use of his afternoon. One usage was enough for the day. Norman sighed, massaging his temple. ¡°Alright, Friend. I¡¯m gonna need a little help.¡± He waited. Anxious thoughts swirled through his mind with no solution in sight. This would not do. Norman scrolled through his phone and selected a song. The calming string instrument soothed his soul. Wade was dimly aware of wetness dripping down his cheeks and chin. He wiped them away. Tears? Saliva? How long had he been standing here? Something big had happened, but what? ¡­ Why was there a harp playing in the background? He noticed Norman standing above the map, eyes closed. In one hand, he held a metallic orb. The other hand hovered over the map, grasping a pencil. Wade wondered about that orb, but he sensed that Norman wouldn¡¯t appreciate any interruptions. Slowly but surely, Norman¡¯s pencil hand began to move. It settled on one of the marks on the map and drew an ¡®X¡¯. Norman opened his eyes, heaving a breath of relief. ¡°Thanks.¡± His eyes snapped to another spot on the map. He stared at it long and hard, then scribbled down another ¡®X¡¯ atop it. ¡°What?¡± Norman grunted. He hands on his hips, he glanced between the two Xes over and over. Wade stepped in and scrutinised them. The first one looked a little way north of Amy¡¯s place. The second one ¡­ ¡°Isn¡¯t that the crazy chef¡¯s eatery?¡± asked Wade. Norman raised an eyebrow. ¡°What crazy chef?¡± ¡°He cooks nyctals,¡± Wade scoffed. Norman¡¯s face lit up. ¡°Really? Perfect!¡± He tucked away the orb and marched for the front door. ¡°Whatcha got there?¡± asked Wade. ¡°Nevermind that,¡± Norman dismissed. ¡°I¡¯m gonna need to borrow your pickup truck.¡± ¡°You gonna sweeten the deal?¡± asked Wade. ¡°$1000,¡± Norman replied without a beat. ¡°If your truck gets totaled, I¡¯ll buy it for the retail price plus 50%.¡± Wade hesitated. ¡°Tempting, but that¡¯s not what I want.¡± Norman was not amused. ¡°You still wanna fight me?¡± ¡°Maybe not,¡± Wade admitted. ¡°But I wanna see what you can do. Somethin¡¯ tells me I¡¯ll find out if I tag along.¡± Norman searched his eyes. That piercing focus ¡­ Wade got the chilling feeling that Norman was looking straight through him, that nothing could be hidden from him. Before Norman, he felt naked. On second thought, that word didn¡¯t cut it. He felt dissected. Layers and layers of psychological flesh seemed to peel back. Norman blinked. The intensity ebbed away. Wade began to breathe again. Whatever Norman was looking for, he had found it. Norman nodded. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s go. Don¡¯t die on me, okay? You¡¯re gonna want one of these.¡± He rummaged through a chest and retrieved a massive flashlight. It looked like a near-perfect bludgeoning weapon. Upon closer inspection, it might have been a stun baton: the most monstrous one Wade had ever seen. Wade pointed down at it. ¡°What dis?¡± Norman grinned. ¡°Your very first smitelight. It¡¯s on the house.¡± Part 29.2 - Back to the Norm II Wade glanced at the speedometer as the pickup truck flew down the road. The good news? Norman never broke the speed limit, not even once. The bad news? He never dropped a single mile below it, unless the road rules demanded it. G forces yanked at Wade as Norman blazed around the corners. Wade was all for thrills within reason, but this was borderline irresponsible. He was about to speak up. It was a residential area, after all. Then Norman banked to the right around a blind corner. Wade¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Norman had dodged a gaggle of children, playing marbles in the road. He¡¯d dodged them before he could see them. Wade turned his attention from the speedometer to the man at the wheel. He eyed Norman up and down in a new light. The pattern of strangeness was escalating. He fancied himself a good judge of character. However, while Norman always read him like a book, Wade could discern very little about his odd companion. ¡°Norman, are you human?¡± Wade asked out of the blue. Norman smirked. ¡°What else would I be?¡± ¡°You tell me,¡± Wade pressed. ¡°Don¡¯t let it go to your head, but for a long time, I¡¯ve considered you the pinnacle of human potential. The perfect rival. Right now? I¡¯m not so sure what you even are.¡± Norman laughed. ¡°Why? ¡®Cause I can topple you with the basic laws of physics? ¡®Cause I know a couple stuff I¡¯m ¡®not supposed to¡¯? ¡®Cause I¡¯m maybe a little too fast, a little too strong for you? Wade, that¡¯s nothing. Chump change compared to what a human can be. ¡°Imagine you lived in an isolated village, stone-age style. The most marvelous weapon you¡¯ve ever seen is a spear. You happen upon a modern soldier. He¡¯s talking, but there¡¯s no one there. You don¡¯t know he has an earpiece. You wouldn¡¯t even know what an earpiece is. You¡¯re well-hidden. He shouldn¡¯t see you, but he stops to look at you anyway. There¡¯s something weird on his face. You don¡¯t understand what infrared goggles are. Then, at his command, fire rains from the sky, and a hidden military outpost is destroyed. You know he caused it, but you can¡¯t imagine how. You don¡¯t understand that he called down an airstrike. Is he human? Is he normal? ¡°The funny thing about ¡®normal¡¯ is it depends on who you ask. A hideously mutated tree isn¡¯t normal, but when you have a forest full of ¡®em? Yeah, they¡¯re normal. At least, they seem to be. You can¡¯t compare them to anything else. Then when you leave the forest and you find out what a tree¡¯s supposed to look like. In a way, I¡¯m not normal. I¡¯m so far below the line that I barely know what normal means. However, I¡¯m getting closer, and I¡¯ll get there some day.¡± Wade stared, openly wary and intrigued. What on Earth was Norman on about? ¡°Care to elaborate?¡± Wade requested. Norman thought for a moment, absent-mindedly dodging a car that came out of nowhere. Finally, he shook his head. ¡°No.¡± Wade was about to argue. ¡°You might want to spend some time getting acquainted with your weapon,¡± Norman suggested before he could say anything. Almost pouting, Wade lifted his ¡­ smitelight? It looked powerful. He¡¯d admit that, but it was still just a flashlight. How could something like this give his firearm a run for its money? Norman spoke up: ¡°I sent you a tutorial video on how to-¡± *ZZAP!* A static burst cracked through the air. Norman¡¯s dreadlocks stood on end. Wade blinked. Was ¡­ was that it¡¯s taser function? This thing packed a punch! Norman did not sound amused. ¡°¡­ Listen. I know that we are men, and we prefer to feel things out on our own, but please watch the tutorial. Also, don¡¯t flash fry me while I¡¯m driving. That would be inconvenient.¡± ~ Ian Anderson was better known as Chef Nyam. He¡¯d earned quite the reputation with his oddly personal passion to cook up and scarf down nyctals of all kinds. Furthermore? They actually tased good, and they¡¯d better. Cooking was his only talent, besides wielding the unofficial national weapon of Jamaica: The Cutlass.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. He stared at the industrial strength box sitting in his front yard. It jostled violently as the screaming thing within it thrashed. The screams sounded ¡­ almost human, but not quite. They had an odd quality that made his ears feel like bleeding. He wasn¡¯t quite sure what this thing was, but he would cook it anyway. The last straw was when it tried to drag away his pit bull in the wee hours of the morning. His sweet little Gizzada gave it a reason to scream, and brought home its ¡­ ear? He couldn¡¯t tell. All he knew was that it tasted like lobster and oyster. Finally, he¡¯d trapped it and he would have more! Chef Nyam raised his cutlass and marched for the box. The box lurched and rocked towards him as creeping black mist seeped out of it. He stopped. What was he doing? This was a new, exotic nyctal he knew nothing about! Opening the box and exposing it to sunlight would definitely kill it, but there was nothing to say it wouldn¡¯t disembowel him first. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn¡¯t crazy. He was fully aware of the possibilities. He couldn¡¯t just go in cutlass swinging as usual. He needed photos for social media! One hand would snap the pics. The other was for the cutlass. He¡¯d hit it a little harder than usual too. It was a good plan. A pickup truck skidded to a stop before him. Norman flung open the door, strode up to his side and examined nightmare box. ¡°How much do you want for it?¡± Norman asked. Chef Nyam grinned. A greedy giggle bubbled up in his throat. ~ Wade scrolled through his phone and almost laughed at the post. ¡°According to Chef Nyam, ¡®Jus pawn aff ah blood-tirsty monstuh tuh sum poor Missa Brinks!¡¯¡± Norman didn¡¯t bother hold it back. ¡°HAHA! That guy cracks me up!¡± A haunting scream sliced through the moment. Wade eyed the little box or horrors on the back of his pickup truck. It left a trail of black as they sped along the road. The thing had to weigh at least 400 pounds. It had taken the combined strength of Norman, the Chef Nyam and himself to hoist it into the back. With every lurch, it looked to be on the verge of breaking free. ¡°Twilight¡¯s comin¡¯ fast,¡± Wade announced. ¡°I know,¡± Norman answered simply. ¡°Most nyctals can¡¯t handle twilight, but A.M.E.s can,¡± Wade added. ¡°A.M.E.s are extremely rare,¡± Norman noted. ¡°Yet here we are, in the neighbourhood where one snatched a girl last evening,¡± Wade parried. Wade caught Norman sighing through his nostrils. ¡°Who?¡± asked Norman. Wade studied Norman for more reactions. ¡°Hard to say,¡± Wade shrugged. ¡°They couldn¡¯t identify the body. It was all over the morning news.¡± ¡°¡­ That was Amy,¡± Norman quietly declared. Wade froze. Norman couldn¡¯t be serious. The dark cloud that descended over his mood confirmed otherwise. Wade had never heard Norman sound so defeated, and yet ¡­ ¡°¡­ Why are you so calm about this?¡± Wade inquired. It almost sounded like an accusation. Norman¡¯s eyes alit with hope. ¡°Because she¡¯s -.¡± The creature stilled in its box. Norman and Wade exchanged looks. Very suspicious. It screamed at a new pitch, in a new pattern. Wade clutched his ears. It felt like they¡¯d burst. Norman handed him something. It looked like some kind of sci-fi visor. Norman now had one on his forehead. It didn¡¯t cover his eyes at the moment, but there were parts shielding his ears. Wade put it on, covering his ears. He could still hear almost like normal, but the sound was moderated to a tolerable level. Interesting. He was glad he took the visor. A deeper, howling scream shook the vehicle, matching the patterns of the smaller one. Something struck. Right way up became upside down. The world spun. A moment of weightlessness. Then the pickup truck crashed into a streetlight, bending the pole out of shape. Hanging upside down in his seatbelt, Wade fought to gather his wits. What hit them? Norman was gone. Wade undid the seatbelt and fell hard. From the questionable safety of the truck, he saw an insectoid claw embedded in the road where they¡¯d been. It towered up and up until the inverted car door blocked it from sight. Black smoke poured from the building on the far side of the street. If this was a nyctal, how could it-? Ah ¡­ the rapidly descending Sun cast a great shadow from the building. Maybe it took the edge off the evening light just enough to create a safe zone for nyctals. That wasn¡¯t enough. The ambient light should have killed it nonetheless. A memory tickled at the back of his impact-addled mind. There were whispers across the forums dedicated to categorising nyctals. Tales of a creature that hunted just before dark, blacking out the setting sun with its ebony fog. T??????he????? S?????mok?????????????e S???cream????.??? It peeled its way out of the building, gingerly removing outer fragments of hollowed architecture like a jigsaw puzzle. Great flaps emerged from the building, fanning the black mist across the area. The fog formed a crude dome, turning evening to night. Now, Wade could barely see a thing. He pulled down the visor. It activated automatically, illuminating a twilit world that looked neither night nor day. He crawled closer to the window for a better look. Arachnid forelimbs loomed out of the building, to a body mostly concealed in mist. Its singular, amber eye peered out of the black, swarming with splattered pupils. Some gazed upon Wade. Others scanned the environment, falling on anything that drew their attention. All as one, those pupils focused down on the challenger approaching the giant. Norman. Part 28.3 - Back to the Norm II Arachnid forelimbs loomed out of the building, to a body mostly concealed in mist. Its singular, amber eye peered out of the black, swarming with splattered pupils. Some gazed upon Wade. Others scanned the environment, falling on anything that drew their attention. All as one, those pupils focused down on the challenger approaching the giant. Norman. He drew his smitelight. fweeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE FFFOOOOOOOMM! For a moment, night became day. The smoke scream wailed. Its appendage came down so fast that the air whistled. It pierced deep into the concrete where Norman stood, but he wasn¡¯t there anymore. Wade hadn¡¯t seen him dive, but he saw Norman end the roll and spring back to his feet. Norman slashed at its joints with beams of his smitelight. The screaming giant¡¯s leg faltered before it swept at him, tearing a path through the concrete. Norman backflipped clear of it. He fired a small burst of light midair. FFAASSH! The smoke scream reeled back into the building as his beam sizzled into its eye. Wade watched in wonder. Norman was in his element. Was this what he was training for? Gut instinct told Wade to check on the box once secure in the back. It had shattered. A screaming creature slammed against the rear window, its single flap flaring ferociously. Shrouded in black smoke, it was a lesser version of what Norman was fighting. It must have sensed the bigger one¡¯s presence as they passed, provoking the attack which freed it. Offspring or mate, Wade didn¡¯t care. Moving on muscle memory, he drew his gun. The nyctal took a bullet before scuttling onto the vehicle¡¯s underbelly. It was too fast. It''s claw tore through metal, missing him by inches. Almost as an afterthought, he snatched up the smitelight before diving out the window into a slide. He aimed. It pounced. Bathed in his smitelight beam, its attack fell apart and it sprawled on top of him. Haphazard claws slapped against his chest, but the strength that allowed it to slice through metal was all but gone. Its swipes were drunk with the light exposure. Wade threw it off of him, fired up the smitelight¡¯s taser function and jammed it into the nyctal. Steam mingled with black mist as it fried instantly, going limp. He took a moment to collect himself. A split-second too slow and he would have been skewered. SQUEELP! A shower of gunk splattered across the street. The giant smoke scream¡¯s eye had exploded. It took one too many blasts of smitelight. The fight was over. Rather, it should have been, but robbing the beast¡¯s vision proved a curse in disguise. It wasn¡¯t fighting anymore. It was death flailing, striking out at everything and nothing. Norman ran as it began to bring down the city block. Then it tripped over its own legs and fell. If not for the viscera, it might have been a funny sight. However, Norman was within squishing range. He wasn¡¯t going to make it. Wade almost didn¡¯t notice the rosy pink atmosphere fade in. Norman spun to face the falling giant, whipping out his metallic orb. It stopped falling. Rosy rings held it aloft. They raised it into the air. It struggled, dancing in their grip like the strings of some twisted puppeteer. Ethereal tentacles sprang out of nowhere, seizing it in an iron grip. The smoke scream could scarcely twitch. Several tentacles enveloped what passed as its head. A flash of heat and they withdrew, leaving a gaping crater where its cranium had been. A series of sickening snaps racked the air as they cracked it apart like a lobster. Translucent sacks enveloped the pieces, buoyed by balloon-like bulbs that helped them remain airborne. Wade blinked. He knew what this was. An A.M.E. had arrived. A.M.E.s were apex predators, but this kind of power was beyond what he¡¯d imagined. Was it really over? Just like that? He went into high alert as atmospheric tendrils probed towards Norman. He found himself reaching for the smitelight alongside his gun. A vague, white aura flared around Norman. The tendrils bent around it as though striking a shield. He didn¡¯t flinch. Wade tilted his head. Did Norman have some way of fending off an A.M.E.? The tendrils pulled back, but hovered close. They almost seemed uncertain, curious, as though this little mortal had piqued their fascination. Above Norman, sinews of pink converged and congealed into a misshapen humanoid. They unraveled. The process repeated itself. This time, he saw details: eyes, wispy hair, some kind of dress. It was feminine. The sinews fell apart once more. ¡°Don¡¯t give up,¡± Norman coached. Realisation stoked Wade¡¯s interest as he glanced between Norman and the entity. Was this ¡­? His answer came soon enough. As though heartened by Norman¡¯s encouragement, the streams of pink came together in earnest. They tried and retried different configurations, each one more thorough than the last. Finally, her form reached its final stages. Abounding in grace, she descended before Norman, staring at the ground. Her body language brought to mind the image a schoolgirl in for a scolding. Wade¡¯s jaw went slack. She was beautiful, like a mythical creature of the night, but more than anything, she was familiar. ¡°Amy?¡± he exclaimed. Amy seemed to notice him for the first time. She peeked around Norman and gave an absent-minded wave that made his heart flutter. Returning her attention to Norman, Amy fiddled with her claws. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin. ¡°I ¡­ told you not to look for me,¡± Amy chided softly. Her voice flickered like a flame. There was some kind of flanging effect, but it was unmistakably her voice. Norman nodded. ¡°You also said you were hungry, so I brought you something. However, it seems you¡¯ve already eaten.¡± Amy looked back at the pieces of smoke scream floating in their sacks. ¡°What are those? Some kind of digestive system?¡± he asked. ¡°Uh huh,¡± Amy nodded lackadaisically. ¡°They¡¯re really gross. I¡¯m a little self-conscious about them.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m a little self-conscious that we brought such a small snack,¡± Norman admitted on his end, looking over to the smoke scream Wade had fried.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Amy shrugged with a dim smile. ¡°It drew out the big one, so I¡¯d say you guys did a lot for me. Smells good, though.¡± Norman sniffed the air and snapped his fingers in eureka. ¡°It does, doesn¡¯t it? Wade, I think I owe you one.¡± Striding up to the half-fried smoke scream, Norman scorched it with a combination of taser zaps and light. It steamed with a delightful aroma. Wade noticed thick pink liquid drip from Amy¡¯s mouth. She caught him staring and sheepishly wiped it off. Was she drooling? Her atmosphere vibrated in sync with Norman¡¯s beam. It almost seemed to growl. She withdrew it from the light. Norman picked up the little smoke scream and offered it to Amy. It had to be hot, but his gloves took it like nothing. After all that frying, the creature¡¯s lost water weight made it a lot lighter. Still, the fact that he could lift it so easily was impressive. Norman looked a bit disappointed in himself. ¡°Sorry. I wish I could serve it on a silver platter, but-¡± Amy snatched it from him and tore into the meal like a starving beast. Her hair tentacles drooped, among other features, as she almost literally melted. Apparently, she wasn¡¯t eating fast enough. Her hair tentacles took over, yanking the nyctal from her hands. Her entire head morphed into a feeding frenzy of tentacles. With empty hands left in holding position, Amy let her arm hang. Her body language suggested she was neither in control nor expecting this. The ¡­ ¡®avatar¡¯, of sorts, wasn¡¯t big enough to consume the whole thing. It acted like a meat grinder, breaking down the meal into pulp released into the rest of her atmosphere. At some point, Amy decided to just let go and enjoy it. Whether she realised it or not, she¡¯d begun bobbing her shoulders in a happy dance of bliss. Wade thought it was the cutest thing ever. Her element of danger made it all the more adorable. Amy had never been harmless. Seeing her do something cute was like watching a tiger act like a kitten. All the more precious. The feast ended fast as it began. Amy¡¯s head and hair snapped back to normal. ¡°MMMMM!¡± Amy exclaimed. ¡°I thought I¡¯d never eat a cooked meal again! Have you done this before?¡± ¡°Ways of cooking them started popping up on the forums,¡± Norman explained. ¡°I¡¯ve been experimenting.¡± A morbid thought crossed Amy¡¯s mind. ¡°I wonder if it would work on something like me.¡± ¡°Pretty sure you¡¯re a special case,¡± Norman supposed. Amy¡¯s mood darkened again. She looked him in the eye. ¡°Norman, seriously, you need to leave me alone,¡± Amy implored. ¡°When you cooked that nyctal, the A.M.E. almost attacked you for the bright light. You know how A.M.E.s work. They sometimes use loved ones to lure in victims. What if that¡¯s what I am? I can¡¯t guarantee that it won¡¯t kill you at any given moment.¡± ¡°You beat it, didn¡¯t you?¡± Norman asked, though it sounded like a declaration. ¡°You wrestled the A.M.E. into submission and took over. That¡¯s why you didn¡¯t attack us just like that.¡± She looked at him long and hard. ¡°How did you know? I mean, I thought I beat it, but it could be some kind of trick. Maybe everyone thinks they beat it. Maybe that¡¯s how it gets them to be the bait.¡± ¡°If that were true, don¡¯t you think it would have struck by now?¡± reasoned Norman. ¡°A.M.E.s aren¡¯t known to be patient when they have a target in their sights. They don¡¯t let the bait have conversations.¡± Amy¡¯s mood brightened. ¡°Yeah ... Good point, but there¡¯re still moments when I can¡¯t stop before it does something. Besides, everyone in this city is hurting. Do you really wanna be seen with the face of the hurt? One of the creatures responsible?¡± Norman reached a reassuring hand for her shoulder. With a light zap, it went limp and hung at his side. Amy stared in horror, but he shrugged it off. ¡°Amy, when have I ever been afraid of you, or to be seen with you?¡± he asked. ¡°You¡¯re strong. You¡¯re probably the strongest girl in the world, and you are more than enough to keep me by your side.¡± The atmosphere grew warm and red with her avatar. Wade realised that she was blushing. The way she looked at Norman? That smile that could light up a night. Wade knew: whatever relationship they had before, it had sky rocketed to the next level. Amy twirled her hair in her claws. She almost looked giddy. ¡°M-maybe next time I¡¯ll get you something to eat,¡± she offered. ¡°I mean, I can¡¯t cook to save a life, but I¡¯ll figure something out.¡± Norman blinked, flummoxed. ¡°You mean ¡­ like a ¡­?¡± She beamed with a nod. ¡°Yeah. You win. I know it sounds forward. Trauma bonding can be deceptive, but honestly, there¡¯s no one I¡¯d rather at my side than you.¡± Wade clapped all slow and savoury-like. ¡°NOW KITH!¡± Amy chortled. ¡°Dude, ruining the moment!¡± Norman lightly rebuked. Wade scoffed. ¡°As if. The meteor that killed the dinosaurs couldn¡¯t ruin what y¡¯all got goin¡¯ on. Better than Twilight.¡± Amy rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve heard anything is better than Twilight.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he agreed. ¡°Do yourself a favour and don¡¯t watch it. Ever.¡± ¡°Norman is more than enough supernatural romance for me,¡± Amy firmly declared. Wade found that a vaguely odd choice of words, but he shook away the thought. Maybe she was just being a bit cheesy. Amy¡¯s atmosphere compressed around the pickup truck and lifted it back onto its wheels. Her aerosol weaved in and out of its parts. Wade heard the metal bump and bend as she buffed out the dents with aerokinesis. She ran her biomass through it one more time. ¡°The damage feels mostly superficial, but I¡¯ve patched it up a bit,¡± Amy announced. She knew her way around a vehicle!? Wade felt a wave of jealously. ¡°It¡¯s dark out now. Want me to escort you back home?¡± ¡°I think we¡¯ll manage,¡± Norman assured. ¡°Speak for yuh dear own self!¡± Wade blurted. Norman laughed. ¡°Okay. Halfway, maybe. I wanna get the word out that you¡¯re friendly before the neighbourhood goes berserk.¡± Amy hovered around him like a mischievous little shark circling prey. Her movements were mesmerising, like a creature of the deep. ¡°Norman Newman, I thought you weren¡¯t afraid to be seen with your girlfriend,¡± she purred playfully. ~¡®Girlfriend¡¯,~ he thought. ~Man ¡­ this is really happening.~ ¡°No. Never,¡± he asserted gently. ~I really wanna take her hands right now.~ ¡°But it would be nice to get them prepped so you don¡¯t get bombarded with flashlights.¡± Amy giggled. ¡°Yeah. That would suck pretty bad.¡± ~ One Month Later Minutes before The Eye of the Storm ¡­ ~ This sucked. It sucked bad. Mr. Brukup had been given a very graphic description of what would happen if he so much as touched his keychain. John Crow was quite the wordsmith, and they weren¡¯t exactly bros. It sounded like a cataclysm out there. Why was Amy fighting like this? She was supposed to be a gentle giant! They even had the perfect hostage! Would John Crow survive this? Would he survive this? His keychain hung on the opposite side of the room, ever tempting. If he was going to die, he wouldn¡¯t go down without his keychain. He scrambled for it, pausing to steady himself as the building rocked. Snatching it from the wall, he squealed with delight and connected it to his arm. Endorphins flooded through his system and he sighed, sinking to the ground. No sooner had he relaxed than a familiar pang made itself known. His keychain was empty. It demanded to be fed. His eyes slowly shifted to Norman¡¯s limp form. A grin slithered across his lips. One last meal. His smile fell as rosy pink sparked near Norman. Was Amy trying to create an avatar? The spark faded like an ember before flaring up again. It reminded him of someone trying to light a match. A few sparks later, a small rosy ball of lightning glowed to life above Norman. It dipped down to nudge at him, squeaking what sounded like encouragement. It was trying to wake him up, but Norman seemed rather committed to his concussion at the time. Mr. Brukup almost laughed. Was this the best the mighty Amy could manage within the building? Poor Norman. All that big talk, only to get his organs slurped out of him. Mr. Brukup would do it right in front of her, a final act of spite. He fanned away a brainfly. It was ruining his moment. Sure, John Crow had bred a special variant with a sting that worked like ten cups of coffee. It helped the landlords shake off the brainflies¡¯ mind-numbing effects ¡­ in a really malicious way. Mr. Brukup wasn¡¯t in the mood to get bitten by some uppity bug while basking in his little victory. The bug moved on and settled on Norman. Amy¡¯s orb yelped and tried to shoo it away. How pathetic. The bug bit him. Norman smacked it and jolted to his feet with the half-crazed look of someone who¡¯d been rudely awoken. Mr. Brukup didn¡¯t move. It was too dark. There was no way Norman would see him, right? His nightsight was gone, and John Crow¡¯s A.M.E. was like a living shadow. Nyctal night vision was far superior. Mr. Brukup still had a clean shot, and Amy apparently hadn¡¯t noticed him. He slowly raised his keychain. Norman looked right at him. Mr. Brukup froze for the third time. He felt silly. It had to be a coincidence. Norman hadn¡¯t spotted him. The guy¡¯s eyes were wide and vacant, like when a blind person knew where to look, but couldn¡¯t see anything. And yet, Norman lifted two fingers to his eyes, before pointing them at Mr. Brukup. ¡®I¡¯ve got my eye on you.¡¯ Mr. Brukup chocked back a gasp. How? Impossible! He¡¯d sling the chain anyway! fweEEEE ¡­ A tiny capacitor whined. Mr. Brukup noticed something on Norman¡¯s other hand. At the back of his mind, he¡¯d seen him reach into his pocket, but he was a little distracted by Norman¡¯s threat. Had he been duped? Likely. This thing looked like brass knuckles, except with lenses: The kind one would find on electronic lights. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Norman asked, low and menacing. ¡°If you wanna die, just come.¡± ¡­ Mr. Brukup didn¡¯t like this one bit. Amy¡¯s little light rasped a squeaky snarl before emitting a sound suspiciously like blowing a raspberry. It nudged Norman into following it. Norman strode across the room, blindly side-eying Mr. Brukup all the while. Chills. Amy¡¯s light hovered over Norman¡¯s backpack, stashed behind John Crow¡¯s trembling easy chair. Norman gave her lightning ball a quick peck on what probably passed as its cheek. It blushed bright red. He pulled out a new nightsight and secured it on his head, firing it up. The chat reappeared. ¡°¡®Eyyy, Night Seizers!¡± Norman grinned. ¡°I¡¯m back.¡± Part 29 - You Filthy Yandere ¡°¡®Eyyy, Night Seizers!¡± Norman grinned. ¡°I¡¯m back.¡± The chat lit up. __CHAT Norman rummaged through his backpack. He felt the bulge of an orb in a hidden compartment. Its nerve-tingling power reached back to him. John Crow hadn¡¯t confiscated his heirloom. That was a little surprising, but it had a tendency to hide itself if need be. __CHAT Norman stepped up to the window. The outside world looked like a murky, black sea with particles racing beneath the surface. __CHAT Norman sent a drone through the shattered window. It pressed through the murky layer, into the swirling specks that were indeed brainflies. The feed flickered as the brainflies nibbled bits of its electronic power. Once through, the drone sent back an unforgettable eyeful. Blasts of dim bomb poured down upon an Allmart, decimating it. From the creamy clouds rose the scarlet star that was Amy, hauling a peeping building¡¯s tentacle bedecked with flash ash blades. She whirled it towards the eyescraper.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. __CHAT The building shuddered and rocked. John Crow¡¯s tentacles were scrambling to deflect her multi-storey death whip. Norman felt the impact in his bones. They deflected her. Barely. Blades of flash ash screamed against concrete. If anyone wondered what it sounded like when eldritch blades clipped a skyscraper, now they knew. The upper corner of the building came hurtling down. With a quick hand gesture to his nightsight¡¯s AR controls, Norman guided his drone out of the way. It spun as the chunk of building plummeted by, righting itself just in time to see Amy¡¯s avatar take a dim bomb. It broke her grip. Her weaponised tentacle flew into a building, tearing it in half. Again, flash ash screamed against concrete. This time, it was deafening. The cityscape shook with the impact. The screen cracked as the shockwave reached the drone. It whirled out of the air and the feed went black, returning to Norman¡¯s point of view. __CHAT Norman¡¯s nightsight caught a distant flash through the undulating murk. __CHAT Norman felt something behind him. Part 30 - No! wait-Wait-WAIT! Norman felt something behind him. He turned and locked eyes with his would-be stalker. Apparently, that landlord was trying to sneak up on him again. Mr. Brukup held perfectly still as Norman strode right up to him. Norman¡¯s steps were calm and fluid, like a panther on the prowl. It was the unflappable composure of a predator who knew his place in the food chain. Norman flexed his knuckles under those menacing, fist-mounted weapons. They whined, capacitors firing up. Amy¡¯s lightning ball sprawled a writhing web of tentacles, like the flagella of a germ that grew bigger than it had any right to be. The prey part of his mind knew what he was looking at. Jaws. Little or not, she was preparing to feed. Between these two, he didn¡¯t think he would survive the next few seconds. Mr. Brukup winced as Norman raised a hand. He closed his eyes, only to feel a pat on the shoulder. ¡°Dude, I can literally see you this time,¡± Norman chuckled as he passed. ¡°What are you doin¡¯, freezin¡¯ up like that changes anything?¡± Mr. Brukup didn¡¯t dare relax. Norman had moved on, but he could feel Amy Mini lingering close. Her presence was like heat, yet it wasn¡¯t. Above all, he felt her hunger. He knew exactly what she wanted to do, almost more than anything. And yet, her presence receded. Mr. Brukup cracked an eyelid, then another. He was ¡­ fine? The landlord looked back to see Norman and Amy Mini examining the organic lock on the elevator door. Did ¡­ did Mr. Brukup mean so little to Norman that he could turn his back on him? Wrath boiled in the landlord¡¯s heart. His face contorted in a scowl hideous enough to make goblins nope out of there. He wound back his keychain and hurled it. Amy Mini darted to block it. The keychain popped her like a bubble a bubble and kept going. Norman tilted left and it missed his skull. The beak-like probiscis bounced off the wall. With one hand, Norman snatched the key chain¡¯s head. The other whipped towards the landlord, making a fist. *TSSK!* A blast of light hit Mr. Brukup like a physical force. It sounded like one of those old-fashioned camera flashes. Mr. Brukup was a bit too busy bawling and writhing to make the connection. Through bleary, teary eyes, he saw Norman searing the organic lock with the light from his knuckles. Amid his squealing, Mr. Brukup heard bits and pieces of Norman talking with the chat: ¡°Flash knuckles they¡¯re still prototypes.¡± ¡°¡­ risk of overheating.¡± ¡°If it weren¡¯t for these gloves, my fingers would be ...¡± ¡°¡­ work out the kinks ¡­¡± ¡°¡­ if you ask me, the overheating part makes them slightly more dangerous- Hey, landlord, could ya pipe down? I¡¯m making a sales pitch.¡± Mr. Brukup screamed. His wrath pushed him through the pain. Why that little-! He heard the organic lock seal itself tighter due to Norman¡¯s tampering. The light would burn through eventually. In the meantime, Norman was stuck with him. Light-drunk or not, Mr. Brukup shoved his keychain at the-! Norman grabbed it again. ¡°Get that disgusting thing out of my-! Wait ¡­ actually I¡¯mma borrow this real quick,¡± Norman declared, yanking it towards the keyhole. Mr. Brukup blanched. ¡°What? ¡­ Wait ¡­ NO! wait-Wait-WAIT! GUAAAAAH!¡± Norman had plunged the keychain into the locking mechanism. The horrible twist? That keychain was empty. The peeping building was a greedy thing. It demanded something from all its residents. If a keychain had no nutrients to offer, it would extract them from the host.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Mr. Brukup could feel it. Precious fluids, ravenously pumping through the keychain to the suck of the socket. His strength vanished as he wrinkled like a raisin. Finally, the doors peeled open. Norman plucked out the keychain and dragged the dribbling landlord into the elevator, smearing a trail of saliva in his wake. He punched in the top floor and the doors sealed shut. His weight increased slightly as the elevator began to move. Looking down at the shallowly panting landlord, Norman frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t drool like that. You can¡¯t afford to lose the body fluids.¡± Mr. Brukup meant to snarl, but it came out like an infant¡¯s gurgle. He felt light, wispy things brush against his head. Their touch was unsettling in a way he couldn¡¯t describe. They reminded him of thread, or tendrils. He looked up. ¡­ Oh no. His hair stood on end as terror washed over him like icy wind. He didn¡¯t know when, but Amy Mini had respawned. Now, she was inches above him. Gone was the pink. What remained was burning red. Her centre had split into a slit pupil, radiating anger, hunger and ¡­ other things. More feeding tendrils extended as she descended even closer. He had to get out of there. With nary an ounce of strength to stand, he began to crawl. Amy matched his pace casually. Her rate of approach never changed. Mockery. That was what it felt like. Probably what it was. He could not escape. She could take her time. She could savour it. He felt those feathery tendrils weaving through his skull. Again, he looked up. Mere millimetres stood between them. Her eye spread wide. At this distance, he could see that it wasn¡¯t really an eye. It was a mouth. Tiny, writhing hairs laced its edges, spreading outwards as they prepared for their task. He turned away, no longer able to look. That didn¡¯t stop the feeling. It crept across his head like a heavy, moist mist that tingled. He raised a hand to fling it off. Spaghetti fingers flailed for a grip and failed. Without his palm on the floor, he collapsed. She continued to engulf his head. His vision went red as she enveloped his face. His scream went almost nowhere. It bubbled into her before being forced back to his lungs. There was nothing he could do to stop her. It was a horrible thought. She would casually consume his mind like a snack, move on and forget about him. He realised that wasn¡¯t true. She would devour his memories, his personality, his final bursts of terror. She would recall it all, and she wouldn¡¯t care. There was nothing he could do to make her care. She stopped. He sensed her attention shift away from him. Through the red aerosol, he saw Norman leaning against the wall. His nonchalance was unflappable, as though he weren¡¯t witnessing an eldritch feeding. However, he was looking at Amy Mini, and she was looking at him. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. Amid the paralysing terror, Mr. Brukup sensed a silent conversation. They were talking without words in the way that couples did. Norman had said ¡­ something, though he never opened his mouth. It felt like a disapproval, but not quite. He wasn¡¯t stopping Amy, but he wasn¡¯t cheering her on either. From the feeling emerged a sentence. Mr. Brukup could practically hear it. ¡®You could do that, Amy, but do you really want to?¡¯ Then Amy Mini¡¯s rage ebbed away as pity coloured her aura. She peeled herself off of Mr. Brukup and returned to Norman¡¯s side. Mr. Brukup had a hunch as to why. Amy could eat his mind, but after losing this much fluid to his keychain? He¡¯d suffered enough. Her pity was almost worse than her rage. Norman checked on the chat. __CHAT Part 31 - KILL HIM! __CHAT Norman leant against the elevator wall, heaving out a sigh. He half-heartedly fiddled with the keychain. It almost looked like he was holding the landlord by a leash, which would be kind of funny, but he wasn¡¯t in the mood. Amy Mini hovered closer. Her tendrils tasted his emotional aura. She gave a squeak, part empathetic, part curious. He wondered if she could sense the details of the chat, or she was responding to some vague sense of his mental state. __CHAT Norman did a double take. He stared long and hard at the chat. __CHAT Norman massaged his brow. __CHAT The elevator slowed, approaching a stop. This wasn¡¯t right. Norman knew what it sounded like when floors passed. They hadn¡¯t travelled up enough of them to reach the top. Mr. Brukup was grinning. Almost giggling. He heard the high-pitched whine of Norman¡¯s flash knuckles powering up. His smile vanished. He looked at Norman. A chill spiked down his spine. Norman was looking back, with knowingly narrowed eyes. Realising it was too late, Mr. Brukup decided to gloat while the gloating was good. ¡°Did you ¡­ really think ¡­ the elevator would take you to the top floor?¡± Mr. Brukup wheezed. The door peeled open, revealing a room full of landlords. All eyes fell on Norman, Mr. Brukup and Amy Mini. The latter emitted a keening warning as she splayed her tendrils in threat display. But she was small, and they were many. Norman cleared his throat, flashing a nickel slick smile. ¡°Gentlemen, Amy is in the middle of destroying your boss. When this is over, you¡¯ll need someone to put in a good word for you. That¡¯s why your head of security and I have come to a-¡± ¡°KILLLLLL HIMMMMM!¡± Mr. Brukup cried before passing out, having used what little strength he had left. Norman rolled his eyes. The landlords converged on him. He raised his fists, lining up the shots. . "???????RED??????????? TI??????????D?????E,???????"?????? . Amy boomed outside. The landlords forgot all about Norman. Dread dawned upon them like the rising sun. Amy had spoken. What did she mean? They heard the sound, like waves roaring across the ocean. Looking out the window, the landlords saw it coming: a tsunami of horrors raging in across the cityscape. Murmurs of dismay turned to cries. Some landlords even got on their knees, begging for mercy from on high. ¡°Hey,¡± Norman whispered from behind. A landlord turned. He found himself staring down the flash knuckles¡¯ light bulbs. At point blank, the damage would be horrific. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to make a move. ¡°Good,¡± approved Norman as he slipped the keychain from the landlord¡¯s grip. ¡°Wanna see a trick?¡± Norman tossed the keychain like a dart. It plunged into a nearby landlord, who squealed as he shriveled. The other landlords whirled to see Norman and the ¡®culprit¡¯ standing side by side. ¡°K-kill him?¡± stammered the implicated landlord. ¡°KILL DEM BOTH!¡± another shouted. ¡°N-no! Just him!¡± bleated the scapegoat. ¡°DEM BOOTTHHH!¡± bellowed the other. Judging from the gremlin screams chiming in, everyone else agreed. Norman simpered like the cat that ate the canary. The doomed little landlord stuttered. ¡°B-but ¡­ I didn¡¯t-!¡± ¡°Shush. We¡¯re squadmates now,¡± Norman sassed with a predatory grin. Part 32 - Bow You Cow 🐄 Landlords squealed and converged on Norman and his squadmate who was once one of their own. The latter blubbered and pointed at Norman: an incoherent attempt to make them see the light and gut him alone. The squadmate flinched as Norman raised his flash knuckles, kata-style. TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK!-TSK! Rapid-fire bursts of light strobed from his fists, peppering the landlords. Battle cries turned to screams. Every beam hit its mark, lighting up the landlords¡¯ flailing bodies in snapshots of agony. Amy Mini nudged a thought into Norman¡¯s head: a glimpse of things to come, and precisely when they would. He crouched. The squadmate rubbed the sting from his eyes. Even indirect light exposure was torture. A dull, rosy radiance flashed at the edge of his blurry vision. Amy Mini had expanded into a dome. Therein crouched Norman, low like a jungle cat, with the predatory vibe to match. It set the landlord on edge. Norman was ready to do something, or waiting for something, but what? With all the excitement of becoming a wanted man, coupled with the dose of light he got anyway, the landlord-turned-squadmate had somehow forgotten the ¡®Red Tide¡¯ outside. Now? He couldn¡¯t hear own his thoughts. They scattered before a sound so loud that he felt it in his skull. The roar of a tsunami, and a cacophony of horrors that had no right to be part of such a thing. Whatever Amy had unleashed, it was almost upon them. His frayed brain finally eked out enough juice to put two and two together. So, this was what Norman was prepar- FRRWWMMMMM! The building lurched. It tilted. Landlords tumbled. Norman was in the air. His whirling kick snapped a landlord¡¯s head sideways. Had the victim been less than nyctal? A broken neck, guaranteed. Norman leaned left. A keychain hurtled where his head had been. He severed the chain and several more with a beam. KLAKNG! Metal met keratin as flash knuckles clashed with the bony key of a landlord who got too close. He slipped past the key. In the landlord¡¯s eyes, his fist became a sun. That sun became four as the knuckles came to fore. An electric impact. White turned to black. The mark of a fist steamed from the landlord¡¯s forehead as he fell back. More keychains flew in. Norman dodged three, deflected a fourth. Caught a fifth between his palms. Its force slid him back. A sixth came. He couldn¡¯t block it. Amy Mini darted in. She enveloped the keychain. Crushed it. ¡°AAAHH-rmph!¡± hollered its wielder before she latched around his face, muffling his scream. Tendrils shot out from her, yanking in three more and smashing their skulls together. She zipped about like a rabid pinball, sending landlords flying to and fro. The squadmate wasn¡¯t sure what to do with himself. He definitely wasn¡¯t doing the job Norman forced upon him, but it didn¡¯t look like he had to ¡­ which didn¡¯t make sense. Silently rooting for his former colleagues, time and time again he saw them fall. Amy, he understood. She was an apex predator, but Norman? He was just a guy, a non-nyctal normie, and he was wiping the floor with them. Even with those electrified flash knuckles, it didn¡¯t make sense. Was he really not a nyctal, or was he something else? ( ( PTLLOOOOOOOM! ) ) Something else. A bright bomb had detonated. The squadmate didn¡¯t know how or why. All he knew was the pain. As he and his fellow landlords collapsed, Norman stood strong, staring out the window. No nyctal could ignore this. Amy Mini keened. She must have been in a lot of pain. That was good. Norman bundled her close in an effort to comfort. The bright bomb¡¯s light vanished far too quickly. With legions of brainflies dead and Dread¡¯s aerosol thinner than ever, the squadmate caught a glimpse of what was outside. It was ¡­ too dark, blacker than any night. Something peeled itself open from the shadows. It was too big. He couldn¡¯t tell what he was looking at ¡­ ah ¡­ That was an eye. Deep, crimson, entirely inhuman. He wished he hadn¡¯t seen it. . ¡°??????????????O?????????????????O??????????????????????O??????????M?????????????????????M??????????M????????O??????????????????? ????????????????????.??????????????.???????????????.??????????????????????? ?????????????O?????????????????O???????????M???????????M?????????????M?????????????????? ??????????????¡­?????????¡±?????????????? . What ¡­ what on Earth was happening outside? If nightmares had a voice, this was it. The squadmate wasn¡¯t sure if he preferred to be out there, or trapped in here with Norman.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°Try to hold it back a little longer, Amy,¡± Norman whispered down to her. Amy Mini squeaked an affirmative. An idea popped into the landlord¡¯s head. He suppressed a grin and tried to act casual, discreetly reaching down for his keychain. Raising it in what he thought was a sneaky manner (it wasn¡¯t), he prepared to sling it at Norman. If he played his cards right, this would get him back into the good graces of his coworkers! He caught something at the side of his eye. KLACKK! Just in time, he parred another keychain with his own, but the hits kept coming. ¡°Please, Mr. Lottalong!¡± he begged. ¡°I¡¯m innocent! Just-just stop for a sec and I¡¯ll-!¡± ¡°Be quiet, Mr. Squeam!¡± the little guy giggled as he, uncoordinatedly, did his best to break through the Mr. Squeam¡¯s parries. His strikes were all over the place, but he had the spirit. Through sheer feistiness rather, Mr. Lottalong made it past a parry and plunged the keychain towards his would-be-victim¡¯s abdomen. Mr. Squeam caught it just in time, but the angle was not in his favour. With Mr. Lottalong relentlessly writhing it closer, there were no breathers to get a better grip. ¡°I never liked you!¡± Mr. Lottalong enthused, squeaking out grunts as he forced the keychain closer. ¡°First, I¡¯ll start with yer guts, then yer brains, and, and, and ¡­ oh, I¡¯m so excited!¡± ¡°I ¡­ DID ¡­ NOTHING WRONG!¡± Mr. Squeam roared. ¡°Nothing wrong?¡± came Norman¡¯s question. A flash struck the nutrient bulb on Mr. Lottalong¡¯s keychain. It burst, splattering everywhere. ¡°You farm people, like cattle,¡± Norman calmly declared. The pain caught up with Mr. Lottalong. In a way, the keychain was a separate entity, but when it was harmed? It let its host know exactly what it felt. Mr. Lottalong¡¯s cries came to an end when Norman punted him across the room. Three landlords faced Norman at once. Flashes. Then punches. A blazing mix of the two. There was more than enough for everyone, and Norman was very generous. Norman¡¯s voice was eerie in its calm, as though he were angry past the point of raising it. The hits landed harder than ever. Norman¡¯s flash knuckles glowed orange as they began to overheat. Mr. Squeam had a feeling Norman wanted to punch him, but these three got it instead. ¡°Men, women, daughters, grandpas,¡± Norman continued. ¡°You feed them to your keychains, your buildings, and you think you¡¯ve done nothing wrong?¡± Mr. Squeam answered, in hopes it would distract Norman. ¡°D-don¡¯t act like you¡¯ve never eaten a burger! Animals eat animals! There are no rights between predator and prey!¡± Two landlords down. ¡°You¡¯ve made a misjudgment,¡± Norman stated. He grabbed the last landlord by the back of his head and dragged it into a waiting knee. That last blow? Mr. Squeam felt it. It broke through his atrophied empathy. The next moment, Norman¡¯s flash knuckles were inches from his eyes. Mr. Squeam trembled to his knees, waving his hands in an attempt at placation. ¡°Mr. Squeam, you¡¯re not the predator,¡± Norman growled. ¡°Not here. Not now. There¡¯s only one predator in the room, and he is angry. What do you think he should do to something like you?¡± ¡°YOU SHOULD BOW, YOU COW!¡± thundered a big, boisterous voice. Norman moved, shoving away Mr. Squeam. A massive fist came down where they¡¯d been, fracturing the flooring. ¡°BOW AND DIE!¡± Another fist swung at Norman. He dodged it. Mostly. A glancing blow was enough to send him flying. Norman twisted through the air and landed like a cat. If the other landlords were goblins, this one was an ogre. ¡°YOU LIVE WHEN WE SAY LIVE, AND DIE WHEN WE SAY DIE!¡± The big guy was charging. ~In his former life, he must have been a wrestler.~ Norman thought. He danced out of the way and flanked the landlord with a kick. It was blocked. ~No. MMA. Pro level,~ Norman self-corrected. ~He¡¯s five times stronger than Wade. Maybe more.~ The landlord pounded one fist to his chest. ¡°I AM MR. LEATHERBACK, AND-! ¡­ rrmph!?¡± Amy Mini had glued to his face. He shoved the avatar between his teeth and yanked, tearing it apart. ¡°WE ARE LANDLORDS!¡± bellowed the Mr. Leatherback. The beaten down landlords began to cheer. Norman ducked a blow and delivered a liver punch. No effect. ¡°WE ARE THE RIGHTFUL INHERITORS OF PLANET EARTH!¡± Mr. Leatherback went on. He lunged. Norman rolled between his legs, launching a quick kick up in the process. The landlord didn¡¯t react. His beefy hands clapped the air where Norman¡¯s head once was. The shockwave was brutal. It was the force to crush a coconut. ¡°SO DIE!¡± Mr. Leatherback roared. He threw himself backwards. Norman hadn¡¯t had the chance to get up. He corkscrewed to the side before the body slam landed. Mr. Leatherback¡¯s hand chased him down, fingers digging into the ground, but Norman was already whirling to his feet. ¡°DIEEE!¡± repeated Mr. Leatherback, attempting to rise. Amy Mini respawned. She zoomed down at his head. He snatched her from the air. She morphed around his hand and began to crush it. Mr. Leatherback snarled and splatted her against the floor. Her avatar was left a mushy heap. He rolled to his feet and barreled after Norman, zigzagging in his path every time Norman tried to get past. So, Norman retreated, but only for a moment. He leapt against the wall and spun off it, firing an aerial kick into the landlord. Mr. Leatherback blocked. Norman pulled back his foot mid-air and struck with the other one, at a different angle. The kick made it through, nailing the landlord in the nose. Upon touching down, Norman unloaded two swift strikes into his liver. The landlord barely winced. ¡°JUST DIEEEEE, YOU PIECE OF MEAT!¡± Mr. Leatherback raged. Norman danced clear. The landlord¡¯s fists came down, shattering the tiling through the organic carpet. There was a lull. Mr. Leatherback panted lightly. Those liver blows were pesky. Back when he was normal, a single one would have messed him up. Now, they were just an inconvenience. He grinned. ¡°How come you ain¡¯t using dem fancy knuckles? Blow a bulb or something?¡± Sure enough, Norman¡¯s flash knuckles made a worrisome fizzle as the metal glowed. However, he barely seemed to hear the landlord. His gaze was like a scalpel, dissecting every detail of Mr. Leatherback¡¯s movements. It was a strange kind of focus: the type one would see in a beast on the hunt, devoting every ounce of its mental energy to its target. Mr. Leatherback repressed the slightest shiver. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± the big landlord mocked. ¡°You can¡¯t talk anym-?¡± ¡°I see you now,¡± Norman mumbled. Calmly, he strode towards the landlord. Mr. Leatherback fought the urge to step back. ¡°You see me? Heh, what you seein¡¯, boy?¡± Norman stopped in front of him, grinning within grappling range. ¡°Everything.¡± Part 33 - I Feel Like a Bad Guy 🦹?鈾? ¡°I see you now,¡± Norman mumbled. Calmly, he strode towards the landlord. Mr. Leatherback fought the urge to step back. ¡°You see me? Heh, what you seein¡¯, boy?¡± Norman stopped in front of him, grinning within grappling range. ¡°Everything.¡± Mr. Leatherback sneered. What was he so worked up for? He reached out to pop Norman¡¯s head like a cherry. BRAX! PAX! What was-? Why did his abdomen-? Ah, Norman dodged and punched him. Twice. Slippery little guy. It wouldn¡¯t happen again. Norman¡¯s kick was heading for his liver. He reached down to catch it and crush the ankle. POW! He gagged a bit. His throat throbbed. When had Norman¡¯s kick gotten all the way up there? No matter. He¡¯d just- THWAK! BRAK! THWMP! BAM! Mr. Leatherback dodged. A flash knuckle found his eye. The light wasn¡¯t active, but an eye was still an eye. His vision blurred a bit after the impact. Norman veered into semi-blind zone. Mr. Leatherback focused his guard there. GNK! The other eye. Mr. Leatherback could still see well enough, so he struck. He blocked. No matter what he did, the hits kept landing. They landed in ways they weren¡¯t supposed to. Every time he made the right moves, Norman changed up the hit at the last fraction of a second, and it got through. His colleagues¡¯ cheers were going silent. Some noticed Amy Mini floating on the sidelines, watching impassively. Norman didn¡¯t need her. And that was terrifying. Temperature dropped. WMM WMM WMM WMMM ¡­ "EYE??????? OF????????? ????????THE????????? ??????ST????O?????????RM." Red light blazed through the windows. The building shook violently. The air grew hot. This light was bright enough to sting nyctal skin, but only slightly. The fear factor it delivered was much stronger. Was Amy doing this? She had to be hurting herself, but she was the only explanation that made sense. Mr. Leatherback and his colleagues staggered from the windows. However, Norman laughed, basking in the show of power. Just when Amy¡¯s light began to dim ¡­ ¡°YEAH! THAT¡¯S MY GIRL!¡± Norman whooped. Her power burnt brighter than ever. Mr. Leatherback pushed through the light and swung at Norman. His fist hit air. More strikes to his liver. ¡°Mr. Leatherback, you better pray my flash knuckles start working soon,¡± Norman suggested, ¡°¡®cause if they don¡¯t, I gotta take you apart. Piece. By. Piece.¡± The damage was piling up.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He didn¡¯t understand. Norman wasn¡¯t strong. He was barely even fast. For some reason, his movements just didn¡¯t ¡­ read right. Every time Mr. Leatherback thought he knew what he was doing, it was wrong. Norman danced on the blindside of his tactical mind. No, it was worse than that. Sometimes, Norman moved before Mr. Leatherback knew what he himself would do, but he did it anyway. A fist was always waiting. Norman¡¯s actions guided his own. He was controlling the fight, scribing their moves like a master wordsmith. He understood Mr. Leatherback, not as a friend, but as prey. Silhouetted by the crimson light, Norman looked like a horror from the shadows, human in form alone. ~Who is this boy?~ thought Mr. Leatherback. He felt his nose break. ~¡­ This man?¡±~ His throat caved. ~This MONSTER?~ His liver ruptured. Mr. Leatherback collapsed, drawing squeaky gasps for trickles air. His throat decompressed and he heaved a long, deep breath. There, before his colleagues, he cried like he never had before. He cried for his mother. __CHAT Norman looked down upon the sorry sight he had created. ¡°Maaaan, I feel like a bad guy,¡± he quipped, rubbing the back of his head. Though most cowered, some landlords made as though they wanted to come at him. With the last of his gumption, Mr. Leatherback reached out to crush Norman¡¯s foot. Norman stomped his hand and ground it into the floor under heel. The other landlords halted. Their fighting spirits died there and then. Norman¡¯s flash knuckles stopped fizzling. He beamed a demonstrative burst of light at the ceiling. For the landlords, it was like firing a gun into the sky, just to say it was loaded. If they weren¡¯t going to attack him before, they wouldn¡¯t dream of it now. Norman sauntered to the elevator as with the ease of an evening stroll. The landlords parted before him. Some had to drag their battered bodies out of the way. He looked at Mr. Squeam. The landlord looked about ready to faint. With a flick of his head, Norman beckoned him. ¡°Walk with me. We¡¯re still squadmates.¡± ¡°Ye-yes Sir!¡± Mr. Squeam stuttered. __CHAT ¡°Mr. Squeam, can you make this elevator take me to straight to Johnny?¡± asked Norman. ¡°I ¡­ I think so,¡± Mr. Squeam confirmed. Amy Mini hovered close to the landlord¡¯s head, turning red. He felt her tendrils tasting his thoughts. She turned back to pink, bobbing up and down in a nod. The landlord was telling the truth. ¡°Good. Get it done,¡± Norman requested. A shaky Mr. Squeam moved his keychain towards the hole. Amy Mini never left his head, scanning for deceit, threatening with her very presence. She perked up and darted to Norman, pressing her findings into his mind. Norman frowned. ¡°Actually, let¡¯s stop at Floor Thirteen first.¡± A chill ran down Mr. Squeam¡¯s spine. ¡°Th-there is no Floor Thirteen. Buildings don¡¯t come with ¡­ f-f-floor thirteens! You should be smart enough to know that!¡± The way Norman looked at him? He sensed there was no room for argument. Mr. Squeam gulped. One of the few places he really didn¡¯t want to be was down there. However, he feared Norman more. ¡°F-floor Thirteen it is, then ¡­¡± stammered the landlord. Part 34 - Amy, Are You Dying? 💀 The elevator descended with a wet, sucking sound probably best forgotten by anyone who valued their sanity. Norman looked at the landlord by his side. ¡°So, what¡¯s your name, kid?¡± he asked. Mr. Squeam struggled to meet his gaze. ¡°Y-you already know my name, and I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m older than you, you ¡­ you brat!¡± Norman crouched to look the landlord in the eye. ¡°Yo. That didn¡¯t sound like a name.¡± __CHAT ¡°What did your mother call you?¡± pressed Norman. ¡°M-my mother¡¯s dead ¡­¡± Mr. Squeam stated. Norman nodded slowly and eased off the pressure. His eyes softened, from diamond to steel. ¡°How did she die?¡± he asked. Mr. Squeam nervously rubbed his keychain. ¡°She ¡­ was just an animal.¡± Norman¡¯s eyes narrowed upon him. Everyone knew that feeling, the sense of being watched, as though gazes bore an invisible force that could be felt, not seen. If gazes were light, Norman¡¯s glare was a laser. It seared into Mr. Squeam. He found himself fidgeting. How was a human capable of generating this kind of presence? __CHAT ¡°DON¡¯T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! DON¡¯T YOU DARE JUDGE ME!¡± Mr. Squeam exploded. ¡°You don¡¯t opt out of The Landlords! You join or die! Either way, there is a price! Always a price! You think I wanted this life!? I¡¯m not a-!¡± ¡°Monster?¡± Norman interrupted, glowering beneath lifted brows. Mr. Squeam didn¡¯t have to take this! He jabbed forth his keychain and found himself pinned to the ground. ¡°You think beating me up makes you right!?¡± Mr. Squeam squealed. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice!¡± ¡°There¡¯s always a choice,¡± Norman calmly declared. ¡°SPARE ME YOUR PREACHING!¡± spat Mr. Squeam. ¡°If I didn¡¯t off her, we both would have died!¡± ¡°How many lives have you offed since then, following ¡®The Landlord Work Ethic¡¯?¡± asked Norman. ¡°THEY WERE ANIMALS!¡± Mr. Squeam insisted. ¡°We all are!¡± ¡°You seem to forget that you¡¯re human,¡± Norman stated. ¡°Even animals are partial to their species. Night shifting affects the phenotype, not the genotype.¡± ¡°How would you even know that!? Besides, you¡¯re not human!¡± protested Mr. Squeam. Norman raised an eyebrow. ¡°Excuse you?¡± ¡°I watched you wipe out half a room full of landlords and then some!¡± reasoned Mr. Squeam. ¡°You made Mr. Leatherback cry for his mommy! You took him apart with your bare hands!¡± ¡°So?¡± shrugged Norman. ¡°So, SHUT UP!¡± Mr. Squeam squealed. ¡°Who are you to act like you care about my mother more than I do!? We crush humans! Whatever you are, you crush us! Don¡¯t pretend to care about the insects at the bottom!¡± Norman smirked. ¡°Insects, huh?¡± Mr. Squeam looked up. Floor Thirteen. The doors opened. Mr. Squeam squeezed his eyes shut. The muffled screams invaded his ears nonetheless. Morbid intrigue compelled him to crack an eyelid, then another. He couldn¡¯t tear his eyes from the sight. Mr. Squeam had never been to the floor thirteens in these buildings. He wished that had remained the case. Translucent sacks hung from the walls. They writhed with the wailing forms of people sealed within. Screams turned to bubbling streams as thick liquid began to smother the victims. A giggling landlord poked at one of the sacks as its occupant tried his best to claw through and get at him. Hearing the elevator doors peel open, the landlord spun to face Norman and Mr. Squeam. ¡°HEY!¡± he yelled. ¡°YOU CAN¡¯T BE HERE!¡± With one fist, Norman blitzed him with the light of the flash knuckles. With the other, Norman swept the room in rapid fire beams that burst every sack. Their occupants came pouring out. Coughing and gagging on putrid liquids, the victims turned hateful gazes upon the landlord, who lay twitching on the floor. They swarmed him as the doors closed before Norman. The last glimpse found them tearing off his keychain. ¡°Top floor,¡± Norman commanded. Mr. Squeam snapped out of it. That sight wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d easily forget. He punched in the number, and fed the elevator from his keychain. It was a good thing he¡¯d ¡­ topped up already, even if that wasn¡¯t really his choice. ¡°You haven¡¯t read the manual,¡± Norman declared. ¡°¡­ Wut?¡± grunted Mr. Squeam. ¡°You don¡¯t know what humans are meant to be, and what we can do, because you haven¡¯t read the manual,¡± Norman clarified. ¡°Until you learn to talk, you will not talk. Until you learn to read, you won¡¯t even know reading¡¯s possible. A smartphone is just a really bad mirror until you find out how to use it. Design features look like bugs and flukes, until you read the manual. 1982, Angela Cavallo lifts a car to save her son when the jacks fail and it drops on top of him. 2005, Daniel M¡¯Mburugu, age 73, mauled by leopard. He pulls out its tongue. Needless to say, there wasn¡¯t much mauling after that. 2019, Travis Kauffman is attacked by a mountain lion. No matter what he did, it refused to let go, so he strangled it with his foot. Even in our diminished state, we accomplish the incredible, because humans were not designed to fail.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I¡¯m not human ¡­¡± Mr. Squeam repeated. Norman made a face. ¡°Why, you stubborn little- Okay, I can¡¯t help you. Game face on and try not to die. We¡¯re bringing down Johnny. If you turn on me, I¡¯ll light you up like New Year¡¯s Eve.¡± ~ A charcoal storm of flash ash swirled beyond the eyescraper, hampering visibility. John Crow¡¯s sensors probed the black, but it muted and scattered his readings. If he was having trouble seeing through it, chances were that Amy wasn¡¯t doing the best either. She was a creature of electromagnetism. Flash ash stifled such energies, which was a gift and a curse. Like a scab, it defended her wounds, but too much scabbing was never ideal. A spear fisher in a shark cage, battling a great white. That¡¯s what he felt like, clashing with Amy. It was a thrill no other man could boast. Not like this. However, as the murky waters cleared, it became evident that this was no great white. It was a megalodon. He''d shot it in the eye anyway. That spear reached its brain. ¡°????Amy, are you dying?¡±???? John Crow asked over the sound casters. The darkness yielded no answers. ¡°????You lost a lot of biomass,¡±???? he noted. ¡°?????Wounded even more. You¡¯re not some blob creature that splatters and comes back together, grows back from a single droplet. There¡¯s a certain amount of you you can lose, and no more. Right now, your blood is an ocean, and we¡¯re swimming in it.¡±????? Still no response. ¡°?????????Amy, please, tell me if you¡¯re dying,¡±???????? he continued imploringly. Silence. A savage grin contorted his face. ¡°I wish to laugh in your general direction, Amy. To point. To clap. I wish to drink Norman¡¯s tears, grow drunk upon his anguish. Would you deny a man his pleasure? Amy, please, tell me that you¡¯re dying.¡± His sensors yielded nothing ... until they didn¡¯t. The flash ash around his eyescraper condensed from a hurricane to a cyclone. Thick walls of crystalline black stood between him and the outside world. She was probably blinding him. Him, specifically, while clearing the rest of the area for her convenience. It felt like he was being gift-wrapped. "3????%????" came Amy¡¯s boom. ¡°?????What?¡±??? he asked. At the back of his mind, he felt the elevator arrive. Amy''s signature was within it. A very a small signature. He sent it an atmospheric blast. The metal warped and the elevator went screeching down the shaft. Her signature blinked out. Strange ... why did she come up the elevator, with such a small avatar? Did someone come up with her? He didn''t feel anyone. Oh well. They were dead now. Very dead. "?????3%???? IS??? ?????T????H???E???? ????M????A????X?????I????M????U????M ???B????I???O????M?????A???S????S????? ????I''???V????E??? ????D????I????R????E????C???T???L????Y??? ???EX???E????R????T???E?????D????? ????T?????O????N????I???G????H????T???,????? ?????IN????? ?????AN?????Y??? ????M???O????M?????E????N????T????,???"???? Amy continued. John Crow frowned. If he¡¯d thwarted whatever she was doing with the elevator, why didn¡¯t she sound upset? "?????Y???O?????U????R B????RA???IN????F???L???I???E???S??? ???W?????ER????E???? ?????MY ?????SH????A????C????K????L????E???S????,?????"???? she admitted, "????BU?????T???? ?????N?????O????W???,????? ????TH????E???Y???''????R?????E ????M???O???S?????T????LY ????DE????A???D????.???? ????? ???I''?????M???? ?????R?????A????IS?????I????N????G??? ????IT??? ???T????O??? ?????20%?????"???? His sensors freaked out. He moved. A crimson meteor punched through the brainflies, through the aerosol, the walls. It roared past him at 1500mph, missing by inches. It set the air on fire. He felt the heat. The sonic boom pelted his skin like a whip the size of a train. Then came the atmospheric disruption. It sent him tumbling like a bug in a hurricane. He fought to right himself as the meteor kept going, through the other wall. Like a river through a straw, it dragged the outside atmosphere through his control room, nearly yanking him through the exit hole. Amy¡¯s crimson aerosol mingled with Dread¡¯s black as the holes sealed shut with patchwork flesh. His sensors tracked the meteor. Her entire atmosphere lurched to catch the comet before it could streak into the horizon. As it slowed, its identity became clear. Amy¡¯s battle avatar. ¡°????Supersonic speed ¡­¡±???? John Crow mused. ¡°???She¡¯s not supposed to be able to do that ¡­¡±???? ¡°Johnny ¡­¡± came the answer he never expected. John Crow turned. A flash blasted him in the face. His screech cut short when burning knuckles struck his neck. Though briefly blind, he felt the culprit through Dread. Barely. His aerokinesis threw back the attacker. Enough force to squash organs, shatter bones. And yet, the culprit landed in a graceful roll, and he was alive. The strike had been cushioned, but by what? There was nothing there. Nothing, but Dread. An energy ball that obviously belonged to Amy spawned above Norman¡¯s shoulder, shifting from pink to red as it snarled. The room was alight with lightning sparks of black and crimson as her atmosphere competed with his own. Dread had done an excellent job of keeping her from dominating the room. Amy could resist him, but she couldn¡¯t win. Not here. Amy hadn¡¯t protected Norman. Her concentration closest to him was extremely low. A landlord sidled up beside Norman. He withered under John Crow¡¯s glare, looking like he wanted to say something. However, Norman¡¯s eyes silenced him. ¡°???You know, Mr. Squeam, ¡®I love treason, but hate a traitor¡¯,¡±???? John Crow quoted. Mr. Squeam choked on his fear. ¡°H-He forced me to-!¡± ¡°????Yes. I know. How sad. Now die,¡±????? groaned John Crow. Black aerosol struck the intruders like a wave. Amy Mini morphed into a scarlet bubble, shielding Norman and the landlord. John Crow tore it apart with aerokinesis, and imploded Dread¡¯s atmosphere upon Norman and his squadmate. They vanished behind swirling black. It parted. Norman emerged. Dread¡¯s shadows hissed around him, but they did not bite. Something unsettling dawned upon John Crow. A fraction of his aerosol was barely responding. That aerosol was in this room. Around Norman. ¡°Johnny, you disappoint me,¡± Norman commented, raising his hand and letting the black wisps hiss between his fingers. ¡°I thought you knew what A.M.E.s were. They¡¯re not monsters. They¡¯re vehicles of battle, and every vehicle has a steering wheel. You don¡¯t know how to work it. You don¡¯t have what it takes, so I¡¯m taking the wheel. Just enough to run you into the ground.¡± __CHAT John Crow shot out a dreadlock. It attached to Norman¡¯s forehead and sniffed for memories and skills. Whatever Norman knew, it was gold. Something roared and severed the connection like a lion swatting a fly. Behind Norman¡¯s mind, he glimpsed three mental signatures. They were massive. Their glares pressed John Crow¡¯s thoughts to the ground like gravity itself. Okay ¡­ Norman had to die. Immediately. John Crow materialised a black node. It sprouted into a toothy tentacle that lashed at Norman. Flash knuckles shot it down before it reached. ¡°Amy wasn¡¯t meant to pilot an A.M.E.¡± Norman jabbed a thumb to his chest. ¡°The pilot was supposed to be me.¡± Striding forward, Norman¡¯s steps were bolstered by Dread¡¯s traitorous aerosol. He was picking up speed. John Crow checked the building¡¯s senses. The sounds coming from outside were hard to miss either way. Flash ash no longer concealed his surroundings. He saw crimson lightning, razing peeping buildings. Their flyscreens went up in flames. He saw nodes, like his own, but much bigger. They swarmed about the cityscape, spurting toothy tentacles that tore through his buildings like fingers through paper. Almost in an instant, his forces were whittled down to breadcrumbs. Then she turned her attention upon him. He felt her wrath. Her manic glee. She didn¡¯t act like a dying woman. John Crow returned his mind to Norman. It was a brief lapse in focus, but Norman¡¯s fist was already a hair¡¯s length away. Fear quickened John Crow¡¯s thoughts. Her saw the knuckle lights ignite in slow mo, like furnaces burning to life in his face. Closing in from within and without, he was beginning to see why Norman and Amy clicked so well. These two were monsters. Be that as it may, he was ready. Ready enough, anyway. The mercury vortex engine had reached critical mass. Amy shot forth. 2100mph. The air screamed and burnt in her wake. One moment, John Crow¡¯s stronghold was before her. Impact was eminent. The next, the eyescraper was gone. Part 35 - Have Some Mauby 🍷 ¡°I NEED BACKUP! GAH-!¡± ¡°HELP! SHE¡¯S ON ME! I-I CAN¡¯T-!¡± ¡°Is there anyone out there? ... The buildings are gone. Amy ¡­ she set the sky on fire ¡­ please, I need- AH-!¡± ¡°MR. PERK, WHERE ARE YOU!?! WE¡¯RE AWAITING COMMA-!¡± Mr. Perk didn¡¯t dare answer the organic radio. His comrades seemed not to realise that Amy kept finding them the moment they started yapping. She must have sniffed out their radio waves. He wouldn¡¯t share their fate, if he could help it. ¡­ It was looking like he couldn¡¯t help it. Holed up in an underground parking lot, Mr. Perk heard the soul-shaking drone of a clarion approaching. Red light filled the entrance as it neared. Then it appeared. He fired. Launching a full car down here would be dangerous, not to mention wasteful. Instead, he¡¯d broken one up into several pieces, releasing them rapid-fire from his clingshot. The clarion fell apart. It was a hollow victory. The dark turned crimson as her atmosphere invaded the car park. Of course. If her drones had found him, she wouldn¡¯t be far behind. It was only a matter of time before- wait a minute. Her aerosol formed something along the wall on the far side of the car park. It looked soft. What on Eart-? ¡°Bo???????o,¡± Amy breathed behind him. He spun to face her. The battle avatar mirrored his movements. Their mantis-like appendages tore through the air on a hypersonic collision course. He didn¡¯t hear the impact. His senses hadn¡¯t caught up with it. He didn¡¯t feel it, ¡­ until he did. The shockwave crashed through his body like he wasn¡¯t even there. His clingshot took the brunt of it. The crustacean nyctal tore apart before him. He flew back. Hit an aerosol crash cushion prepared against the wall. Cracks racked the building. Thanks to the shockwave, it was coming down. He dimly watched as the ceiling caved towards him. A scarlet dome sprang up between him and the rubble. Suddenly, he was someplace else. Sunlight! Everywhere! He screamed, shielded himself fruitlessly. A rosy tentacle slapped him across the face. ¡°Pipe down, ya drama queen!¡± Amy barked. It didn¡¯t really hurt, but the sensation jarred Mr. Perk back to sensibility. He was bathing in sunlight ¡­ but that didn¡¯t hurt either, which suggested that this wasn¡¯t real. ¡°There you go! I knew there was a reason why I didn¡¯t slurp your mind out!¡± Amy teased. Mr. Perk looked about. He was on a patio at the seashore. Sargasa¡¯s sand was a deeper peach than that of its mother country, Barbados. It also had a reflective quality, like burnished metal, thanks to the enigmatic seaweed species that composed the island. Perhaps their founders should have taken the hint. These lands obviously weren¡¯t normal. He could smell the sea spray, hear the waves. Privately, he enjoyed the sun on his skin. Perhaps this would be his last time in the light of day, even if it was just a dream. ¡°Dream, huh? Is that what you think this is?¡± she prodded playfully. ¡°Well, you¡¯re basically right, so good on ya, you flesh-suckin¡¯ goblin!¡± She sat at the sole table on the patio, sipping a dark liquid from a glass. ¡°It¡¯s mauby,¡± Amy explained. ¡°You¡¯ve been living here so long, yet you haven¡¯t had any? You should try it.¡± She was clearly in his head. He didn¡¯t like this one bit, folding his arms and refusing to budge an inch. ¡°Why should I?¡± challenged Mr. Perk. Amy shrugged. ¡°¡®Cause I¡¯m being super nice, considering that I don¡¯t like you very much.¡± He huffed a laugh. ¡°You dislike me? You confessed your love for John Crow himself.¡± ¡°Mr. Brusque and John Crow are simple,¡± Amy delineated. ¡°They¡¯re bad guys, easy peasy, but you are complicated. I can¡¯t, in good conscience, just eat your knowledge and sniper skills. To make matters worse, you shot me when I was finishing this thing for good, so, yeah, I don¡¯t like you. Trust me, I¡¯m looking real hard for an excuse to feast, so be a darling and think something heinous so I get it over and done with, ¡®kay?¡± ¡°When you slapped me, it barely hurt,¡± Mr. Perk declared. Amy quirked a smirk. ¡°What¡¯s to say I wanted it to hurt?¡± Mr. Perk pinched himself. Sure enough, he felt the pain, even in this supposed dream. ¡°It''s actually hard to make a slap not hurt,¡± he argued. ¡°They''re much more unpleasant than they look on TV, and you''re insanely strong, which means you were being very, very careful not to hurt me.¡± ¡°¡­ I think you should have some mauby,¡± Amy whispered snippily, her smile sickeningly sweet. She looked a bit more purple than usual, but he didn¡¯t know what that meant, so he didn¡¯t care. ¡°Or what?¡± he snapped. ¡°If you wanted to hurt me, I¡¯d be hurt, but I¡¯m not. You also made sure the shockwave didn¡¯t kill me. In spite of your power, you¡¯re all bark and no bite. You don¡¯t have what it takes to win this. You¡¯re a kitten in the body of a tiger.¡± Amy eyed him before looking out to the ocean. What a strange sensation. He actually felt her lose interest. He, on the other hand, lost more than that. Something ¡­ withdrew from him. All colour lost its verve. Warmth abandoned the sunlight. It was the same dreamscape world, but it also wasn¡¯t. A chill crept up from his extremities. He saw his breath mist the air. The wind ceased. The waves stopped breaking. It was eerie to see the sea, perfectly, stagnantly, calm, but it wasn¡¯t peaceful. Everything was wrong.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. He felt ¡­ Unloved. It wasn¡¯t mere apathy or neutrality. It was the absence of something he never noticed. Ice-cold indifference, to the point of a fundamental force, or lack thereof. She just didn¡¯t Care about him, or this world anymore. Her Care was the only thing holding it together. The ocean froze. The Sun flickered and shrank like a dying flame. Clouds fell from the sky in cascading sheets of powdered ice. He felt his eyes seize up as the tears began to crystalise. And yet, Amy sipped at her liquid mauby, unperturbed by the cataclysm unfolding around her. He could see it: a bubble of warmth enveloping her and only her. She still Cared, but only for herself. He fought his failing muscles to get closer to her, to share an iota of that life-giving warmth. Amy watched him like a bug crawling on the pavement. Intellectually, she knew he was there, but he might as well not be. He reached for her bubble, so close yet so far. Then he could move no more. His blood froze. Frostbite spiked his cells, yet he continued to live. Gravity released its grip on the sea. Shards of ice disintegrated into the sky. From coconut trees to wooden railings, the world shattered like fine glass, rising into the heavens. Frozen air congealed on the floor in growing heaps. Amy stirred her mauby with a tendril. Then the Care came back, like an atmosphere racing into a vacuum. Mr. Perk collapsed. Amy caught him. Her hair tendrils brushed the frost from his skin as she sat him down in the chair before hers. ¡°Mr. Perk, I¡¯m not a nice girl playing monster,¡± she whispered wistfully. ¡°I¡¯m a monster playing nice ¡­ and I¡¯m getting tired of playing.¡± Mr. Perk nodded dumbly. His mind reeled. The Care ¡­ he¡¯d never realised it was there, but it had always been, not just in this dream. It was like gravity, or the atmospheric pressure that kept a body from decompressing: an ever-presence that he hadn''t noticed until it was gone. If Amy was literally holding the dream together with her Care, then ¡­ what of the outside world? His hands trembled as he numbly lifted his mauby. It had reformed before him at some point, after disintegrating with the dying world. He wasn¡¯t paying attention when it happened. Mr. Perk had a taste. Ah, it was a bit like root beer: fairly pleasant, and the aftertaste was ¡­ oh ¡­ oh ¡­ He made a face. Amy laughed. ¡°Why did you ask me to drink this ¡­ stuff?¡± Mr. Perk asked, pushing the glass away from himself. ¡°It was meant as an analogy so you could understand me,¡± Amy explained. ¡°Seems sweet, but the aftertaste is gnarly. However, following that little demonstration? I think you understand me perfectly, so it was a bit redundant.¡± Mr. Perk¡¯s tired eyes scrutinised the beverage. ¡°People actually like this?¡± ¡°Mmhm,¡± Amy hummed. ¡°Norman looooves mauby ¡­ for some strange reason I can never comprehend. Anyhoo, enough with the emo allegories. Down to business!¡± She waved her claws across the table, fabricating a diorama of the city with her aerosol. He saw a pinprick of crimson that could only represent Amy. It accelerated for John Crow¡¯s eyescraper at blinding speed. Suddenly, the building was gone, ending up half a block away. Her entire biomass lurched as the avatar strained to a stop, before giving chase. The eyescraper moved again. This time, rather than slowing, Amy let her avatar fly out of her atmosphere at near-hypersonic speed. She¡¯d already spawned another one, which tore towards him. The eyescraper blurred just as she reached it, returning to the same spot the moment she¡¯d passed through. Amy flung her hands at the visual sputtering confused math lady noises. ¡°WHAT THA-? HOW HE-? ADSFGHHJ-! WHAT EVEN IS THIS?!?¡± she blubbered. ¡°HIS STUPID BUILDING¡¯S JUMPING ACROSS THE MAP LIKE SOME SORRY SOUL ON 7000 PING ¡­ and I know what that feels like, believe it or not ¡­ BUT IT CAN TELEPORT??¡± ¡°It can¡¯t teleport. It¡¯s just really, really fast,¡± Mr. Perk corrected. Visibly stressed, Amy massaged her brow with her claws and hair tendrils. ¡°Any insight on how to fight it?¡± she groaned. Mr. Perk had been glancing at the mauby. Finally, he reached out, picked it up again and took a gulp. Sure, he hated it, but it was a popular drink. He was determined to find out why people liked the stuff. It wasn¡¯t like he had much better to do in here. Besides, her entropic apathy left a dry feel in his throat ¡­ and his everything. ¡°Knowing the tiger¡¯s teeth does not save you from its jaws,¡± Mr. Perk riddled. ¡°Tell me about the teeth anyway,¡± Amy insisted. ¡°What difference would it make?¡± he dragged. ¡°You¡¯re gonna get mauled regardless.¡± One of her tendrils flicked at him, swishing millimetres from his face. A tuft of his hair fell into the mauby, sliced with terrifying precision. He lowered the cup. On second thought, he wasn¡¯t thirsty. Her hair tentacles rubbed each other in a manner suspiciously similar to sharpening a knife. ¡°Sweetheart, I think you¡¯re forgetting the tiger in the room right now,¡± Amy purred. ¡°Also, I know it¡¯s unfair, but I¡¯m the only one allowed to tell annoying riddles here. Just setting some house rules.¡± ¡°Basically, you¡¯re cooked,¡± he summarised. ¡°I thought that was obvious enough.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°Why is John Crow¡¯s building so different from the others?¡± ¡°From what I gather, it¡¯s not just a building. It¡¯s a modern iteration of a vimana,¡± Mr. Perk casually supposed She furrowed her brow, before plucking an ancient-looking book from his head. Needless to say, that was a little disturbing. ¡°Did you just ¡­ pluck that thing from my mind?¡± asked Mr. Perk. Amy burst into laughter, then tapped a waitress avatar of herself who¡¯d apparently always been there, even though she hadn¡¯t. ¡°Gurl, get this! Bro still thinks his mind belongs to him!¡± Amy gushed. The two avatars howled their laughter, slapping each other¡¯s backs, clapping and pointing at Mr. Perk. He felt himself shrink almost visibly. Amy shooed away the still-giggling avatar, blew off the dust and opened the book, putting on a pair of red glasses she pulled from her hair. ¡°Leh we see ¡­¡± she mumbled. ¡°Vimana, vimana ¡­ flying chariot of the gods ¡­ ¡®The construction of the machines has not been explained. For the sake of secrecy, and not due to lack of knowledge. In that respect, that should be known as the reason - They are not fruitful when disclosed¡¯.¡± Amy continued to speak, as though nothing strange were happening, but the change was instant. ¡®Flying chariot of the gods¡¯. At those words, her hair tentacles shot out. Mr. Perk¡¯s temple stung. One had barely missed his skull, but the mini sonic boom lashed his cheek and pounded his eardrum. Those tentacles waved about as though feeling around for ¡­ something ¡­ Sensory organs like satellites and eyes spawned in the air, scanning the area, though it was naught but a dreamscape. What was she looking for? The organs despawned. Her tentacles withdrew. She snapped the book shut, wafting a cloud of dust into Mr. Perk¡¯s face. He gagged and coughed. Amy ignored him. ¡°Why do you think it¡¯s a vimana?¡± she queried. ¡°I¡¯ve ¡­ *KAFF!* s-seen the mercury vortex engine,¡± he choked. ¡°So he just up and built a U.F.O.?¡± she asked incredulously. ¡°Not a U.F.O. More like a U.A.P., but it¡¯s not unidentified, so let¡¯s drop the fuzzy, spooky buzzwords and call it what it is: a field propulsion craft,¡± he corrected. ¡°But you made a distinction between U.F.O.s and U.A.P.s, the difference being ¡­ what, exactly?¡± she persisted. ¡°Technically, nothing, but the ¡®U.A.P.s¡¯ we see in the news generally appear to be manmade ¡­ or close enough to manmade. Pills, saucers, triangles, whatever the shape, they look like something you¡¯d build. They sometimes move in seemingly impossible ways, but from all appearances, they¡¯re just aircrafts. In many cases, they¡¯ve got a suspicious number of lights that scream: ¡®Hey! Look at me!¡¯ Very strange. Why would something so advanced be lit up like a Christmas tree unless someone actually wants you to see it?¡± Mr. Perk reasoned. ¡°You said ¡®aircrafts¡¯. Why not ¡®spacecrafts¡¯?¡± Amy asked. ¡°Space-worthy? Maybe. Could be one and the same, but people mostly spot them coming from bodies of water, or cave systems, not outer space,¡± he explained. ¡°This suggests that many, if not all of them, were already here.¡± ¡°I still don¡¯t get why you wouldn¡¯t say U.A.P. and U.F.O. interchangeably,¡± she argued. ¡°I could, and I¡¯d be right,¡± he agreed, ¡°but some people like to make a distinction between the weird and the super weird. ¡®Genuine U.F.O.s¡¯ are a whole different ball game. They shapeshift. They disappear and reappear. Weapons pass straight through them. Sometimes, it¡¯s not that they are emitting light so much as they are light, from the looks of it: balls of energy, and the like. There¡¯s nothing to say that they¡¯re crafts, or even solid. For all we know, they could be living creatures.¡± ¡°Would ball lightning be an example?¡± Amy asked tentatively. He pointed at her with the air of a big ¡®AHA!¡¯. ¡°Some accounts of ball lightning would be perfect examples.¡± ¡°But you think some nyctal just mAnAgEd to get know-how to build a U.A.- uh, field propulsion craft?¡± she asked. He looked her in the eye. ¡°Amy, what do you think nyctals are? The future is already here. It¡¯s been here for thousands of years.¡± Part 36 - Guess I Really Am Evil 😔 ¡°You think some nyctal just mAnAgEd to get know-how to build a ¡®U.A.-¡¯ uh ¡­ field propulsion craft? Amy asked. Mr. Perk looked her in the eye. ¡°Amy, what do you think nyctals are? The future is already here. It¡¯s been here for thousands of years.¡± She gave him The Look. It was the uncomfortable smile of a ¡®sane, normal, person¡¯ who realised they were in the presence of some conspiracy nut. He¡¯d seen it many times. Each time, he hated it all the more. ¡°You¡¯re a raspberry-flavoured atmospheric beast the size of a city block, and you think I¡¯m ridiculous?¡± he asked, growing heated. ¡°You know what? Forget nyctals. We live in a world of steel and plastic, brought to life by the power of lightning. Our creations think without brains and move without legs. We talk to each other from halfway across the globe, with a system that can neither be seen nor felt. We live on a ball floating on nothing, spinning on nothing! We don¡¯t even know what gravity is, only what it does! Amy, have you ever seen an atom? I¡¯m not talking about orbs orbiting orbs like the textbooks show you. That¡¯s not what an atom looks like. Real atoms are over 99.999% empty space, like a mansion occupied by a single insect. Our bodies are mostly nothingness, yet we are solid. Has our world ever not been strange? What does ¡®not strange¡¯ even look like?¡± ¡°For starters, maybe getting out of my face?¡± Amy suggested. He saw her point. Apparently, he¡¯d crawled across the table just to get all up in her business. Amy pushed him back to his seat with a firm, gentle tentacle. He looked away, arms folded as he contemplated the professional, level-headed man that he was not. ¡°Look, there¡¯s realistic-weird, then there¡¯s unrealistic-weird,¡± Amy reasoned. ¡°Every major shift in science looks unrealistic-weird at first,¡± Mr. Perk countered. ¡°I hear you, but don¡¯tcha think this is a biiiiit too big to hide from the general public?¡± asked Amy. ¡°Hide? Hah,¡± he shook his head. ¡°Amy, everyone already knows. The best secrets are the ones you don¡¯t have to keep. It¡¯s the perfect marriage of truth and falsehood: a half-truth everyone knows, but no one takes seriously.¡± ¡°Takes what seriously?¡± Amy asked. ¡°The age of mythology,¡± he answered. Amy huffed a one-note chuckle. ¡°Okay.¡± Mr. Perk huffed back. ¡°It¡¯s like talking to a goddess who doesn¡¯t believe in goddesses.¡± Her tentacles shot out again. This time, they stopped a metre¡¯s length before she smoothed her hair back under control. He was right. She was reacting to those words, specifically. What was it that triggered her? No ¡­ maybe not her, per se. Her body language didn¡¯t match the tentacles¡¯ behaviour. Were her tentacles reacting on their own, against her will? What about the organs that spawned earlier? Could he use these trigger words to throw her off? She seemed to be getting better at reigning in the reaction. Still ¡­ ¡°????????,¡± he probed. No reaction. ¡°What was that?¡± Amy queried. ¡°There are many accounts of U.F.O.s responding to certain words, just like you,¡± he explained. ¡°I wanted to test it.¡± She scoffed. ¡°I didn¡¯t even recognise that word.¡± ¡°That was the point. It was meant for the A.M.E., not the you part of you,¡± he explained. She shrugged. ¡°Assuming your faulty logic holds true, guess I¡¯m not a U.F.O, huh?¡± ¡°I think there¡¯s a connection,¡± he claimed. Amy thought for a moment. ¡°Hm ¡­ so then that leaves ¡­?¡± She laughed. He pointedly ignored her. ¡°You think I¡¯m a goddess?¡± Amy howled. He didn¡¯t answer, eyes scrutinising her tentacles as they spasmed a bit at the mention of that word. Her laughter ceased. ¡°Oh, you actually do? Dude, look at me. I can¡¯t even tolerate daylight. I¡¯m struggling against some jerk in a buggy-eyed building!¡± ¡°Vimana,¡± he corrected. ¡°Yeah, whatever,¡± she waved away. ¡°Don¡¯t you think maybe a goddess would be a biiiit more impressive than this? Just a thought.¡± ¡°?¦Ò¦É¦Ñ¦É?,¡± he uttered. She frowned as her tendrils flared briefly. ¡°¡­ What are you-?¡± ¡°??????,¡± he pressed. Her tentacles screeched, manifesting blades that flailed about. Mr. Perk lurched back. He could actually hear them slice the air! Amy looked a bit embarrassed, but she settled them soon enough. She glared at him. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s safe for you to keep doing that.¡± ¡°No need,¡± he assured. She rolled her eyes, but there was genuine curiosity within them. ¡°Satisfied with your findings?¡± ¡°Somewhat,¡± he replied. ¡°Still think I¡¯m a goddess?¡± she probed. Her tentacles twitched ever so slightly. ¡°No,¡± he stated simply. ¡°Then what do you suppose I am?¡± ¡°Something that hates gods.¡± On that reply, her tentacles stopped moving. The ocean went silent. He looked out to sea. The waves were frozen. Not icy. They simply didn¡¯t move. His heart pounded. If she did anything remotely like that thing earlier, he¡¯d find a way to nope out of there, no matter what. He turned back to Amy. It wasn¡¯t just her tentacles that stopped. Amy seemed to have ¡­ paused, somehow. ¡­ Had he broken her? Did he win? Could he leave? Mr. Perk half-expected a freestanding door to open out of nowhere. Nothing like that happened. He returned his attention to the frozen Amy. Was she even conscious? He moved a finger in front of her face. Her eyes didn¡¯t even follow- Her face had warped to a frenzy of toothy tentacles. She was pouncing. She was huge. Those tentacles crashed down at him like a tsunami. His reflexes threw him backwards. He should have fallen, chair and all, but something held him in place. He realised several of her tentacles had already reached him, snaring his wrists, his torso, his skull, gearing up to pull him in. It took him a moment to understand that she wasn¡¯t moving. Again, like a nightmarish statue. ¡­ Was that really true, though? His rational mind pushed through the fog of terror, urging him to look at the waves again. He did. Some of them had broken. So, she and the world were moving, but the frame rate had dropped, or something like that. Even so, she was so fast that she¡¯d moved this much between frames? He made feeble attempts to break her grip as panic reasserted itself. It was like wrestling steel. His heart faltered as he gazed into her tentacle-warped face. Somehow, he understood that he was looking at a mouth. It was wide open before him, for him. Soon, she would move again. It would be over before he could blink. ¡°Oh, God ¡­¡± Mr. Perk gushed. ¡°OhGod!OhGod!OhGod!OhGod!¡± ¡°You should watch what you say,¡± Amy suggested. She was normal again. They were seated like before. It was like the nightmare hadn¡¯t even happened. ¡°I think the A.M.E. tried to kill you just now,¡± she explained, rubbing her tentacles soothingly. ¡°I stopped it, but it took a lot of- hey, are you okay?¡± Did she ¡­ seriously not remember what just happened? He almost told her, in very strong terms, then stopped himself. What would she do if he brought it up? She was in his head. Was something preventing her from realising what happened, or was she playing dumb? Both good cop and bad cop? ¡°So, all the fairytales are true, huh?¡± Amy smirked. ¡°Countless cultures, different truth claims?¡± ¡°N-no. Not every one, and not in every way,¡± he clarified, desperate to move on. ¡°And yet common threads persisted. The Native Americans have stories that closely mirror Genesis 6. Divine beings, hybrid giants, a flood ¡­ key details vary, but the commonalities are blatant. Every ancient culture has a flood story, and hybrids like chimeras and demi-gods keep popping up. How do you explain that?¡± ¡°Conceptual cross pollination and intertextuality, maybe?¡± Amy shrugged. ¡°They could have been talking to each other, at some point or another.¡± ¡°Yes, but remember, these stories weren¡¯t meant to be fables,¡± he asserted. ¡°They were supposed to be history. Yes, there¡¯d be lies, and corruptions, but you can¡¯t throw the baby out with the bath water. The most powerful lie is a half-truth.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. She still wasn¡¯t quite buying it, even after all that. Shadows of The Look remained on her face. Anger tightened his chest. She couldn¡¯t just do all this to him, then patronise him like this! Regardless, tentative curiosity was on her face. Was he starting to get through? Based on her ping comment, apparently Amy was a gamer. Perhaps it was time to speak her language. ¡°Ever played Assassin¡¯s Breed?¡± he asked out of the blue. Her tentacles pricked like a dog¡¯s ears. ¡°No ¡­ but I¡¯ve looked into the lore. It¡¯s very interesting.¡± Mr. Perk leaned closer, his passion for the subject taking over. ¡°Is there a part of you that says: ¡®Yeah, that sounds like it could have happened, but something feels off. Really off¡¯?¡± Amy stared at him for a second. ¡°¡­ Yes, but that¡¯s just a feeling. Everyone¡¯s got a feeling. It doesn¡¯t mean anything.¡± ¡°Except when it does,¡± Mr. Perk smirked. He plucked the hair from his mauby and finally took another drink, seeming satisfied with himself. ¡°You look like you think this was a mic drop moment,¡± Amy teased. He gave a noncommittal grunt. At this stage, he wasn¡¯t sure if he cared what she thought anymore. He was just tired, and still a little shaky. ¡°So ¡­ how do nyctals fit into this conspi- uh, theory?¡± Amy asked carefully, like she was talking to a ticking time bomb. He snorted at her tone. ¡°History is repeating itself, and it¡¯s grimdark science fantasy.¡± Amy¡¯s hair danced, slow and thoughtful. A small smile dawned on her face like the first rays of daybreak. ¡°Eh, I dunno,¡± she mused. ¡°From where I¡¯m standing, things look pretty noblebright. Even if I can¡¯t be The Big Good, maybe I don¡¯t have to.¡± Mr. Perk froze and put down his cup. ¡°You ¡­ already knew?¡± ¡°In a vague way, yes,¡± Amy confirmed. ¡°Breed¡¯s lore helped me contextualise what Norman is.¡± Mr. Perk stared at her. ¡°¡­ What ¡­ Norman ¡­ is?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Amy nodded. ¡°Y¡¯know, just before my mind got sucked out, he started opening up to me. Did some party tricks, except they weren¡¯t tricks. Parkour, hawk vision ¡­ fruits. That¡¯s Norman. Just, casually, Norman. It¡¯s also, really, not. Half-truths, as you said.¡± He blinked. ¡°Isn¡¯t Norman ¡­ normal?¡± ¡°Yep,¡± Amy confirmed. ¡°He¡¯s just slightly more normal than the rest of us.¡± Mr. Perk grew suspicious. ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Amy rested her chin on the back of her wrists, smiling mischievously as she waited for him to figure it out. ¡­ ¡­ Ah, of course. She was an atmospheric mind eater. If she didn¡¯t want him to know something, she would simply snatch the memory. There was no way he¡¯d leave this place with knowledge she didn¡¯t want him to keep. Amy nodded, satisfied with his conclusion. He cleared his throat, trying to move on before she decided to carry it out. ¡°How much did Norman tell you?¡± ¡°Very little,¡± Amy grumbled. ¡°I raided the brain of some guy with much higher connections than you do. That¡¯s the only reason why I know anything. Norman drops hints and refuses to elaborate. It¡¯s frustrating.¡± Mr. Perk hesitated. Much like the mauby, he was actually starting to ¡­ well, not exactly dislike her. Talking to her wasn¡¯t so bad. That was not ideal. He couldn¡¯t afford her as an ally. It was objectively wrong, but any means of disrupting her efficiency was vital, even if it meant sowing seeds for the destruction of her relationship. ¡°¡­. Ever thought of brain-raiding Norman?¡± probed Mr. Perk. ¡°Lots of times, yeah,¡± Amy shrugged. ¡°Probably wouldn¡¯t work, tho.¡± Mr. Perk paused. He expected the cliched: ~Of course not! I could never do that!~ However, once the seed was sown, it would be impossible for her not to think about it. As it turned out, the seed was already sown. He was very late to the game. Amy¡¯s smile was smug. ¡°Mr. Perk, you¡¯re much more na?ve than I thought. Of course ideas like that are gonna pop into my head. I¡¯m an atmospheric mind eater. More than that, I¡¯m human. We can¡¯t fully stop whatever twisted thoughts come knocking. Actually doing them is a different story.¡± ¡°Could you see yourself actually doing them?¡± he explored. Her eyes narrowed, but her smile remained. ¡°With. Ease.¡± He stared at her. This leg of the conversation wasn¡¯t going the way it should. Not at all. ¡°¡®Some say that someone who is incapable of cruelty is a higher moral being than someone who is capable of cruelty¡¯,¡±Amy quoted. ¡°¡®I would say that¡¯s incorrect, and it¡¯s dangerously incorrect, because if you are not capable of cruelty, you are absolutely a victim to anyone who is. That doesn¡¯t mean that being cruel is better than not being cruel. What it means is that being able to be cruel, and then not being cruel, is better than not being able to be cruel. In the first case, you¡¯re nothing but weak and na?ve. In the second case, you¡¯re dangerous, but you have it under control¡¯.¡± Mr. Perk didn¡¯t know what to say. ¡°Pretty metal, huh?¡± Amy commented. ¡°Maybe you should switch gears a bit. If I¡¯d think like this when it comes to love of my life, what do you think I could do to you? We¡¯re all alone. No witnesses. Whatever happened to you could die with me, assuming I¡¯m not immortal. So, why don¡¯t you quit these callow little attempts at manipulation. Cooperate. Now. For the sake yourself and anyone who relies on you.¡± ¡°If you¡¯ve got all the answers, why are you talking to me?¡± Mr. Perk asked testily. ¡°Because you may know something I don¡¯t, and you did,¡± Amy replied. ¡°Some interesting thoughts bubbled up from your mind as you spoke. Never heard of a vimana before, but it doesn¡¯t surprise me. I could just search your memories myself, but you know your mind better than I do, so it¡¯s easier to have you pull them up in conversation.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you just eat them?¡± asked Mr. Perk. ¡°That would be the easiest method, yes, but I¡¯m not quite sure if you deserve that,¡± Amy admitted. ¡°You know, if you weren¡¯t a flesh-sucking goblin trying to make me eat his mind, I think Norman would like you.¡± He scoffed and folded his arms. ¡°What? You think we should hug it out and become some big happy team?¡± She beamed warmly. ¡°I¡¯d like that, actually.¡± ¡°What¡¯s to say the ¡®flesh-sucking goblin¡¯ won¡¯t default back to his flesh-sucking ways?¡± he challenged. Her smile turned predatory. ¡°?????I????¡¯???d ?????like???? ???th????a?????t????? ????eve????n???? ???m????o????re,????¡±???? she declared, a tapering tongue slithering between sharp teeth. Mr. Perk looked at the ocean. Anything but her hungry eyes would do. He once fancied himself to have nerves of steel, but they melted in the face of a predator like her. Amy¡¯s grin receded. ¡°Sorry. I just ¡­ having an excuse to feed is always nice. Besides, I¡¯m still not sure what to think of you.¡± Mr. Perk side-eyed her. ¡°This isn¡¯t the behaviour of normal, well-adjusted people.¡± ¡°Yes, well, most people under your circumstances are smart enough not to judge me, so maybe you should zip your snippy little lips,¡± Amy quipped. ¡°Ever thought about that?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Yes. It was pretty stupid.¡± ¡°Ugggh! This is so annoyingggg!¡± Amy groaned, flopping onto the table. ¡°Total opposite of Mr. Brusque! He couldn¡¯t admit his faults if his life depended on it! I can¡¯t just let you go, so why don¡¯t you give me an excuse so I can be over and done with ittttt?¡± If she weren¡¯t some eldritch horror bent on eating his soul, it might have been kind of cute. ¡°I don¡¯t eat souls!¡± she snapped, before looking up at him. ¡°Hang on ¡­ lemme just ¡­ hmmm ¡­¡± Amy¡¯s hair tentacles sniffed at him. He felt them probe to the depths of his mind, then deeper still. They touched something. Poked at it. There was resistance, like a barrier. He got the feeling that he really didn¡¯t want her messing with whatever it was. Mr. Perk cleared his throat and tried to guide her tendrils away. They warped around his hands, ignoring his efforts. He spoke, mostly to distract her from whatever she was doing to him. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry. You seem ¡­ well ¡­ somewhat evil, but self-controlled,¡± he began. ¡°I don¡¯t think you and your boyfriend deserve any of this, but I¡¯m not just living for myself here. You¡¯re in my head. You know why I gotta do what I do.¡± Amy withdrew her tentacles, sobering up. They wrung each other at the tips. She looked ¡­ awkward? ¡­ Ashamed? ¡°Guess I really am evil,¡± Amy concluded. ¡°I should be trying to empathise with you. I just wanted to extract some useful info before you go on your roaring rampage of revenge ¡­ though it¡¯s not like you could do much until I dig you out of the rubble.¡± He felt her pity. A dawning foreboding curdled in Mr. Perk¡¯s gut. She¡¯d expressed pity towards him before, right after she caught his bullet. Why? Did she know something he didn¡¯t? ¡­ No ¡­ NO ¡­ ¡°Huh, you¡¯re pretty smart,¡± Amy commented dispassionately. ¡°No, just- just tell me what you know!¡± Mr. Perk snapped. She sighed. ¡°You¡¯re doing all this for your little sister. The Landlords were holding her hostage, so you¡¯d follow orders, but ¡­ I¡¯m so, so sorry. They fed her to a keychain months ago-¡± Mr. Perk roared. The dreamscape shattered under his wrath. Amy felt a tiny portion of aerosol pull from her control. Of course, ¡®tiny¡¯ for her was enough to fill a small house. She was about to yank it back, but it wasn''t every day she found someone who could do this. Why not see what happened next? ~~~ The collapsed car park trembled. Quaked. Rubble blew asunder as a figure erupted into the sky, burning red. ~~~ Hiding under a bridge, Mr. Lim¡¯s clingshot shuddered violently. Why was it acting like this? Was it damaged? Oh, maybe it was because he was mind-bendingly terrified. Some of his fear must have carried over to the clingshot. He¡¯d piloted it while scared before, yet this was a first. Then again, he¡¯d never been more scared in his life. Amy had wiped out most of the buildings in one fell swoop. Why was she fighting like this? She was supposed to be soft-hearted! ¡°Anyone out there?¡± Mr. Perk radioed in. ¡°I can help.¡± Mr. Lim almost jumped for joy. ¡°Mr. Perk, I¡¯m-!¡± His voice was lost among the dozen or so other snipers. They swarmed the channel, begging for backup. ¡°EVERYBODY SHUT UP!¡± Mr. Perk snarled. ¡°Mr. Lim, you spoke first. Tell me where you are.¡± There was something about the way Mr. Perk spoke. Mr. Lim¡¯s instincts whispered warnings. Then again, this was Mr. Perk. As long as he thought they had his sister, he was a lapdog. ¡°Oh, thank goodness!¡± Mr. Lim exclaimed. ¡°Mr. Perk, I¡¯m under the ¡­ uh ¡­ Reaping Bridge!¡± ¡°¡¯Goodness¡¯? No,¡± Mr. Perk growled on his private channel. ¡°There is no goo????dness here.¡± The dark turned crimson. The bridge tore apart as something crashed through stone and concrete to reach him. ~~~ ¡°Eyes on the entry points,¡± Mr. Grey warned. ¡°Radio silence.¡± ¡°But why? Don¡¯t we need to let Mr. Perk know where we are?¡± asked Mr. Galock. ¡°No ¡­ we absolutely-do-NOT,¡± Mr. Grey snapped. Something didn¡¯t feel right. Mr. Perk¡¯s tone dripped thinly veiled, murderous intent. More than likely, he knew. Holed up in an abandoned warehouse once serving as a mechanic¡¯s garage, Mr. Grey and his comrades manned three clingshots. Laying down suppressive fire on Amy was no longer their concern. The mission was to survive. That was all. Mr. Blicky seemed to pick up on the threat. Too bad he didn¡¯t pick it up all the way. ¡°Mr. Lim, are you still there?¡± Mr. Blicky whispered into the radio. Mr. Grey¡¯s clingshot slammed his against a truck. It lurched and dented. ¡°WHAT DID I TELL YOU!?¡± Mr. Grey roared. Mr. Blicky shoved him away. ¡°Claws off! I contacted Mr. Lim, not Mr. Perk!¡± Mr. Grey was livid. ¡°Blicky, if he¡¯s working with Amy, ANY radio signals might be the death of-!¡± Something crashed through the roof. Red. Mr. Grey fired off a shot. Didn¡¯t wait to see if it hit its mark before he fled, took cover behind the truck. Red blades cleaved the vehicle so fast that metal melted on contact. They tore it in half, revealing their master. ¡°??????D???????I???????D????? ?????????????YO?????U??????????? ????????KN?????????????O???????W!?¡± raged Mr. Perk. An inferno of crimson aerosol blazed around him, head to toe. Bladed, red rings reminiscent of wings rippled down his body, keeping him aloft. Two withdrew from tearing the truck apart. They reminded him of Amy¡¯s jellyfish-like flight skirt. They also brought to mind a biblically accurate angel. It didn¡¯t matter. Mr. Grey¡¯s clingshot was already aiming for his gut. The hypersonic round fired. Shredding the air, it ravaged the garage with a mini whirlwind. The bullet went through the wall, through two buildings and across the sky. Mr. Perk had moved, but not fast enough. When it came to compressed cars hurtling at several times the speed of sound? All it took was a glancing blow. Mr. Perk¡¯s arm was gone. He reeled from the air and crashed behind heaps of scrap. ¡°Yes. We knew,¡± Mr. Grey sneered, preparing another shot. ¡°It was the world¡¯s greatest inside joke! She cried your name!¡± He fired again. The scraps shattered and scattered like marbles. His shot burrowed through floor and soil, sinking deep into the Earth like a stone in the water. The warehouse trembled under its might. ¡°Was it this keychain?¡± came a darkly serene voice from behind. ¡°Was it ¡­ yo???????u?¡± Mr. Grey felt hot fingers caressing his chain. Red light seared at his back. Most unnerving was the calm in Mr. Perk¡¯s voice. Blunt wrath had sharpened to bladed focus. That blade was upon his neck. Part 37 - Silencer 🔇 CHNK! CHNK! CHNK! CHNK! Golden rule of clingshots: if you can hear them loading up, it¡¯s probably too late. Mr. Perk didn¡¯t care. He flung himself back from Mr. Grey. Mr. Blicky¡¯s clingshot fired anyway. It missed. However, the bullet¡¯s atmospheric disruption dragged Mr. Perk through exit hole punched through warehouse. As for Mr. Grey? His body tried to follow the airflow. Still connected to the clingshot, his keychain yanked him short. He dangled as the clingshot lurched to compensate. Its electron web kept its feet on the ground. Mr. Blicky trained his clingshot on the hole Mr. Perk disappeared through, hoping to get a good shot in the moment he reappeared. ¡°What are you looking for?¡± Mr. Perk breathed down his neck. ¡°AJIFJOSIFJDOSDIAAFFF!¡± freaked out Mr. Blicky. He whirled. By the time his firing claws raised, Mr. Perk had wrenched them towards Mr. Galock. The metaphorical trigger had already been pulled. A hypersonic round ripped past Mr. Galock. The aim was been off, just a bit, but the airflow was brutal. It dragged the landlord from his clingshot, snapped his keychain. He smacked against a support beam and slumped. Wheezing for breath, he could only watch as Mr. Perk cracked the firing claws from Mr. Blicky¡¯s clingshot and whacked him aside with it. Mr. Galock looked up to see Amy perched on the scaffolding, watching. ¡°Amy, please ¡­ HELP ME!¡± he cried with ragged breaths. ¡°HE¡¯S GONNA KILL US!¡± Amy looked away, ignoring him. A flood of aerosol crashed into Mr. Galock. It was an incarnation of Mr. Perk¡¯s wrath. Mr. Galock went straight through the beam, through the wall, into the streets. Mr. Grey took aim. It was time to clip Mr. Perk¡¯s wings. Suddenly, all feeling to his firing claw was gone. Then went the other three. Mr. Perk was the quicker draw, launching sharp blasts of aerosol that tore off the clingshot¡¯s firing mechanisms. An evasive lunge. That was all Mr. Grey could manage. Even in the air, he felt his clingshot lose its legs to Mr. Perk¡¯s sharp shooting. One severed his keychain, bringing pain like no other. Tumbling to the ground, Mr. Grey¡¯s clingshot nearly crushed him in landing. He laughed bitterly, looking up as Mr. Perk approached him like an angel of death. ¡°Finally got dat ¡®landlord work ethic¡¯ going on, eh?¡± Mr. Grey mocked. Mr. Perk moved in for the kill. Amy darted in front of him. ¡°Mr. Perk, timeout. We-¡± He shredded her avatar with his bladed wing rings and kept going as if it were never there. Fascinating. His body was a lot more fragile than hers. He should have been weaker, but her aerosol was working overtime to give him the absolute best it had to offer. It was like a suit of powered armour. The air was boiling, thanks to the unusually high energy it demanded. It wouldn¡¯t run out either. She¡¯d attached an organic tether from this pocket of biomass to the main one. It was like a power cable. That way, she could fight John Crow while letting Mr. Perk do his thing, and oh, the things he did. The things her biomass did for him. It had never gone this far for her. Maybe his fragility was key. It knew he was a glass cannon, so it compensated with everything it had. His wrath and willpower certainly helped. Amy took notes. She could try to implement some of this into her constructs, but right now?Stolen novel; please report. It was time to shut this down. The fragments of her avatar spread into a spider web that fixed to every corner of the warehouse, binding Mr. Perk in place. She took back some control of her biomass, weakening him enough to make it work. A freshly spawned avatar hovered in front of him as he writhed. ¡°LET ME GO!¡± he roared. ¡°HE DESERVES THIS! WHY ARE YOU HELPING HIM!?¡± Amy tilted her head in thought. She sent a hair tendril to Mr. Grey¡¯s skull. He was in no state to contest it. Her eyes widened as she scanned his memories. ¡°I hate to say, but Mr. Grey may not be a lost cause,¡± Amy informed. ¡°The landlords did the same to him as they did to you. At this stage, he actually wants you to end him. He understands that he deserves it.¡± ¡°THEN LET ME DO THIS! JUST LET ME!¡± Mr. Perk spat. ¡°HE KNOWS IT¡¯S RIGHT! YOU KNOW IT¡¯S RIGHT!¡± Amy sighed. ¡°Honestly? I don¡¯t know about that. Either way, it¡¯s my biomass, and it¡¯s not for killing.¡± ¡°BUT YOU ALREADY LET ME-!¡± he stopped himself and glanced at Mr. Blicky¡¯s body. Having noticed him, Mr. Blicky played dead. She must have protected him from the full force of the blow. He could only assume Mr. Galock was still alive too. ¡°YOU PROTECTED THEM!?¡± Mr. Perk snarled. ¡°HOW COULD YOU!? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY¡¯VE DONE!?!¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she shrugged simply. ¡°YOU¡¯RE A MONSTER!¡± he raged. ¡°¡­ ¡®Cause I won¡¯t let you commit murder with my own body?¡± Amy deadpanned. ¡°THEN LET ME GO!¡± he demanded. ¡°Okay,¡± Amy agreed. She set him down, withdrawing her biomass so that he couldn¡¯t weaponise it. Nonetheless, he lunged for Mr. Grey. A raspberry barrier sprang up, shielding his would-be victim. He beat against it, always one beat short. It took him a moment to remember that Mr. Grey shot off his arm. Mr. Grey chuckled. Mr. Perk scowled, clutching the empty spot on his shoulder where Amy patched him up. He couldn¡¯t feel it. Maybe she was numbing the nerves. Mr. Perk glared up at her. He reached back to yank off the dim bomb attached to his back. Based on the minds she¡¯d raided, Amy knew doing so would set it off. He was planning to take out Mr. Grey with the blast. Her aerokinesis stopped his hand. Mr. Perk gnashed his teeth. ¡°He blasted off my arm. You caught my hypersonic bullet, but you couldn¡¯t stop him? You¡¯ve taken back your power, and you won¡¯t even let me have my justice by my own hand. You really think you¡¯re the hero?¡± Amy¡¯s hair spread out as she descended before him. It was like watching a predator open its jaws. Was she really going to do this? Just ¡®cause he caused a fuss? Her tentacles enveloped him. So did her arms. It felt ¡­ nice. Better than nice. Was she hugging him? It seemed she was doing more than that. He felt the tentacles caressing the pain and hatred from his psyche. They lightly tugged at the bitter memories, but he held them fast. He had good reason to be angry, to hurt. She had no right to take that away against his will, so she didn¡¯t. Tears flowed freely and snot bubbled in his nostrils as he half-heartedly struggled to break free. ¡°Stop,¡± he begged. ¡°Why can¡¯t you leave me be? Just let go! There¡¯s nothing left for me here.¡± ¡°Kirk Perkins,¡± Amy began, ¡°I know it feels like there¡¯s nothing left to live for, like you¡¯re all alone, and no one understands, but please. Please. Give yourself a chance. I promise. I¡¯ll do everything in my power to show you that life is worth living. You are not alone, and you never will be.¡± His muscles trembled as he made one last push to rip off the bomb. Finally, he went limp. It didn¡¯t matter anymore. Maybe he¡¯d finish the job when she finally let him go. Maybe ¡­ ¡­ Maybe this was okay. Mr. Perk hated the thought, but perhaps Amy was right. She meant what she said. He sensed her sincerity as immutably as gravity. Someone ¡­ actually Cared about him. He wasn¡¯t alo- He felt panic flare through Amy¡¯s mind link. Then he felt no more. KCHOOOM! The warehouse went up in a billowing dim bomb. Amid the burning clouds, Amy watched the ashes fall from her grip. She¡¯d tried to block it, but she wasn¡¯t fast enough. It came in a focused stream, like a beam. Amy peered through the sickly, off yellow atmosphere, vaguely making out the culprit responsible. John Crow¡¯s eyescraper stared back with a dozen, unblinking gazes. Within the building, John Crow grinned. Would she cry? Would she scream? Oh, how delicious! He licked his lips, but her display of despair never came. She simply stared, and blinked. Calm. Too calm, but there was something behind her eyes that set off alarms at the back of his skull. As his smile faded, hers appeared. It was not a pleasant one. For a time, she simply returned his gaze. Hers was almost mesmerising. A scene from an old dinosaur movie came to mind: something about when a raptor stares at you, and does nothing, that means its buddy was creeping up on your blindside. He blinked, realised she¡¯d slowly unfurled her hair and head into those entrancing, concentric, circles. The goal was to keep him looking. John Crow didn¡¯t bother look for the attack. He simply warped his eyescraper away. A car-sized hole appeared in the building behind where he¡¯d been. Whatever that thing was, its swift, silent piercing power might have actually broken through his defenses. It left a subtle, optical phenomenon: more concentric circles. He almost didn¡¯t realise he was looking at them On instinct, he moved his eyescraper again. More, nigh-invisible strikes riddled the landscape where he¡¯d been. Half-seen figures darted through the streets. ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­ Well, this sucked. Part 38 - Be Human 👩🏽 Rain water tore up from the streets in Amy¡¯s wake. Her avatar flew close to the ground: hopefully, under the radar. She was stalking. Well, as close to stalking as it got when moving just over 100mph. The idea was to imitate the traits of a stealth plane as much as possible. She¡¯d also taken pointers from Mr. Perk¡¯s rampage. He¡¯d managed to sneak up on his targets using a biomass muting and camouflage technique she hadn¡¯t thought of. He hadn¡¯t figured it out on purpose. Likely, her monster body just handed it to him, because it knew he needed the extra help. However, she remembered the technique. Amy wasn¡¯t quite sure what John Crow used to scan the cityscape, but it wouldn¡¯t hurt to at least try to fly under the radar. Her pitch-black avatar¡¯s energy output was low. Atmospheric disturbance and electromagnetic signatures were stifled and mellowed across her biomass in the immediate area. As for her shape? Amy remembered watching a documentary in which a mimic octopus impersonated a flat fish. It didn¡¯t do a very good job. Not by human standards. The result was a wrong-looking, tentacled thing. That¡¯s what she looked like right then. Perhaps it was psychosomatic. Sure, Amy could shapeshift, but she generally maintained a humanoid form. Feeling human was important, not merely as a matter of preference. However, her avatar had been blown apart time and time again. Reforming it all ¡­ fingers, arms, fingers, legs, head, fingers, and fingers again: it was tough. The human body was a tricky build. Every time she recreated it on the fly, her body adapted, just a little bit. It made changes that were easier to replicate next time. It also got stronger. She felt less human, more natural. Her legs were no more. At least, they weren¡¯t the legs she knew. What remained were tentacles jutting from her flight skirt, clasped together in one, sleek, serpentine unit. When they spread, they reminded her of a vampire squid. The web between them helped when it came to swiftly changing her aerodynamics. Her body felt longer than it should, bending at unnatural angles. It was starting to forget to pretend it had bones. Were her respawns getting sloppy? Maybe, but there was more to it than that. Her atmosphere was changing. Gone was the semi-amorphous biomass that only, sometimes, looked sort of like a kraken-type-thing from a distance. Her atmosphere had spawned a swarm of eyes and ¡­ other things. She couldn¡¯t access them because they weren¡¯t hers. A structured form was coming to fore. The damage she took, the drive, the rising desperation: all of that brought her closer to It. She had to reach the finish line before It. began to run. Crimson lighting lashed the cityscape within her biomass atmosphere. None of it struck the eyescraper. The whirlwind of flyscreen would resist it anyway. This was a distraction. She hoped to keep John Crow¡¯s eyes on the lightning long enough for her to do this. Her body morphed into an eldritch javelin. In the air and on the street, rainwater seared to steam as Amy¡¯s power flared. Energy condensed around her avatar, aerosol burning. She kept its output restricted to that area. In the next tenth of a second, she went supersonic, stealthily streaking for her target. Before it knew it, she¡¯d already have pierced the heart and the battle would end. This was The Black Bullet, Silencer Series. John Crow¡¯s eyescraper hovered, just above the ground, base tentacles touching down like the anchor ribbons of an abominable balloon. She could feel the whirling energies, focused in the heart of the eyescraper. They perfectly aligned with the surface memories she¡¯d tasted in Mr. Perk¡¯s mind: Therein lay the mercury vortex engine. The building¡¯s bulbous eyes didn¡¯t have the chance to shift. She¡¯d gut that engine before they could blink. One second, she was staring down those big, ugly eyes. She smelt the building¡¯s breath wafting from its vents. ( ( BWOOOM! ) ) The next second? It was staring staring her down. From the left. Half a block away. It was as though it had taken a big step sideways, yet it skipped the stepping part. Amy spread her leg tentacles like a massive umbrella, catching air with the web between them to slow down. She dove, squeezing the air with her leg webbing for that extra speed spurt. The eyescraper¡¯s dim bomb stream sliced through where she¡¯d been like a beam. Focused like that, it would have hit harder than a clingshot. Figured he wouldn¡¯t give his snipers the best weapons. Amy slithered through the air, avoiding his line of sight. She took a detour through an apartment complex, silently shattering the window. Amy darted through a bedroom, plowing down the door as though it weren¡¯t there. For the barest fraction of a second, she¡¯d glimpsed her reflection. Wow, it was ¡­ wow. Probably best not to let Norman see her like this. Sure, the guy didn¡¯t spook easily. He might not even care, but that didn¡¯t mean she wanted him to see her halfway to one-winged angel. This little metamorphosis better have a bishonen line. Meanwhile, three of her Clarions bombarded the eyescraper with their vibrational blasts. The eyescraper¡¯s tentacles coiled, squeezing out whirling dim bomb discs that acted as shields. Interesting. The warp jumps seemed to have a cooldown, even if it was brief. There appeared to be a range too. She was starting to notice patterns. She was closing in again. She forged the form of a black bullet. The eyescraper unleashed a dim stream. Amy didn¡¯t bother block or dodge. Her javelin-like body pierced the blast. It slowed her down. A lot, but she was still deadly. ( ( BWRRUM! ) ) The building warped. This time, it carried a little something extra. Amy was latched on to the firing tentacle. It got in her way. Well, not for long. Her avatar¡¯s grip was part wrestler, part parasite. ¡°???R?????AV???????A????G???E,¡±??????? She declared. Her toothy tentacles sprung and wrung up the length of his own like thorny vines, choking the life from their host. She had him. She had him! His tentacle flung her earthward. The other limbs withdrew. She sensed the warp bubble, tight around the building¡¯s fly screen. ( ( BWWWUM! ) ) Amy glimpsed the building blinking away just as she went crashing deep into the street. He¡¯d left behind the arm she was attached to. How annoying. It tasted good, though, not that she had time to polish it off. Amy didn¡¯t bother rise from the crater before giving chase. Asphalt and rainwater erupted in her path as she raged through the ground like it didn¡¯t even matter. After that close call? The eyescraper was keeping its distance. No longer did it dance at the fringes of her biomass. It always warped away before any part of her could reach it, blinking closer and closer to Brightside. Things would get complicated once they got near the ever-lit, upper crust sector of the city. Amy spawned a probe from her claw tips and flicked it into the sky. Its eyes scanned the cityscape before her. Reinforcements ahead, just as she suspected. Her thoughts turned inwards. ~~~ Within the depths her mind, an avatar floated alone, thinking. It divided into two as her kaleidoscopic consciousness went to work. ¡°Okay, what do we do?¡± asked Amy 1. ¡°Stopping one bullet was hard enough, but dozens? ¡­ We¡¯re gonna need some new toys,¡± Amy 2 requested. ¡°Yep.¡± Amy 1 pointed out a third avatar. ¡°You there!¡± ¡°Me? Here? Since when?¡± asked third, confused by its existence. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Amy 1 declared. ¡°Dream up some toys you think would work! Amy 4, run simulations to make sure they will! Amy 5-!¡± ¡°Maybe we should change gears ¡­¡± Amy 5 suggested. Amy 1 stared. ¡°Explain.¡± ¡°Last time I went close to Brightside, they dimmed the lights so I¡¯d feel safe enough to come closer,¡± Amy 5 began, ¡°then dialed them to eleven while beaming floodlights at me. I thought I was gonna die!¡± ¡°So we just ¡­ let them die?¡± asked Amy 1. ¡°N-no! I¡¯m just saying we should focus on saving Norman and for Brightside ¡­ whatever happens, happens?¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. The ensuing silence and pointed stares grew uncomfortable. ¡°Look, I¡¯m hurt and tired! I¡¯m tired of being hurt, and I¡¯m tired of being tired!¡± Amy 5 gushed. The other avatars dropped what they were doing and swaddled her in a huddle of hugs, hair tentacles and all. ¡°We¡¯re all tired,¡± Amy 1 declared. ¡°Then let¡¯s take a break. We can¡¯t save everyone,¡± Amy 5 suggested. ¡°We¡¯ll take a break after we¡¯ve saved everyone,¡± Amy 1 gently asserted. ¡°But why?¡± pressed Amy 5. ¡°I could give several reasons, but if you want a selfish one? It¡¯s ¡®cause we gotta be human,¡± Amy 1 declared. Amy 5 stared at her. ¡°¡­ What does that even mean?¡± ¡°It¡¯s like the golden rule on all those subseddits: ¡®be human¡¯. We were born with a missing piece. We¡¯re defective. Ever since Norman straightened us out, we¡¯ve been trying to compensate: artificially manufactured empathy and whatnot. This is training. We don¡¯t need empathy to do what we gotta do. Then again, we don¡¯t need two eyes either, but they¡¯re a huge help. We¡¯ve gotten this far. Maybe if we keep trying, we won¡¯t have to force it forever. Make enough sparks until the fire burns on its own. This is for us as much as it¡¯s for them. It¡¯s training.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not working,¡± Amy 5 shot down. ¡°Maybe it is,¡± shrugged Amy 1. ¡°Sociopaths aren¡¯t born. They¡¯re made. If it¡¯s possible to lose your empathy as you grow up, maybe it¡¯s possible to undo the defect you¡¯ve been born with. We¡¯ve made progress.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I have to straight up die for Brightside!¡± Amy 1 blurted, wiggling free of the hug. ¡°If Brightside is capable of hurting me so badly, it can definitely take care of itself!¡± ¡°And if it can¡¯t?¡± Amy 1 supposed. Amy 5 shrugged. ¡°What goes around comes around.¡± Amy 1 grabbed her by the hair. ¡°GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!¡± With that, she hurled Amy 5 through the window that existed for that reason alone. Amy 1 turned to her sisters. ¡°Forget that one, two ¡­ maybe eight times Brightside was less than amicable. We save everyone and eat like a queen! That is our mission statement! Oh, and we gotta wrap this up before It takes the wheel.¡± They peered through the psychological window. From the darkness, something peered back. The avatars shuddered. ¡°I thought our mission statement was ¡®do no harm¡¯?¡± Amy 2 mused. They all looked at her. Then they burst into laughter. ¡°Good one, Amy 2!¡± Amy 1 cackled. ¡°Alright, chop chop! We got some toys to crank out!¡± ~~~ In the outside world, Amy chuckled to herself. Well, she wasn¡¯t quite ¡®herself¡¯ anymore. Deep down, where thoughts melted to instincts, Amy knew: even if she couldn¡¯t win, John Crow wouldn¡¯t win either. It was closing in fast. . . ¡°??????????????????????O???????????????????????????????O????????????????????????????????????O??????????????????????????????A?????????????????????????????M??????????????????????I????????????????????????????????????????M????????????????????????????????????!????????????????????!?????????????????????????????????!????????????????????????????????????????????????¡±????????????????????????????????????????? . . Amy gnashed her teeth and held It back. It was like trying not to sneeze. That was the worst metaphor she could possibly think of. Better would be comparing herself to a leaf, standing against a hurricane. Alone. No. That was a big, dumb lie, wasn¡¯t it? At the end of the day, she had Norman. ¡°?????P???????E????R??????SI???S??????T?????EN???C?????E P?????R????E??????D?????A?????T?????O???????R??????,????????¡±??????? Amy declared. And so, the chase continued. ~~~ John Crow shook his head. Was Amy really this cheesy? Calling out her moves like this? She was pretty much texting him her tactics! Maybe she¡¯d watched too much anime. Maybe it helped her focus, or maybe ¡­ ¡­ Maybe he should focus on his own predicament. Poom ¡­ POOM ¡­ POOM! Wrapped in layers and layers of Dread¡¯s aerosol, John Crow had cocooned himself away from Norman. Dread had a lot of biomass to spare. It didn¡¯t matter much if some died. Still, the guy was breaking through. John Crow had decided to ignore Norman a bit, in favour of dealing with his stupidly overpowered girlfriend ¡­ who seemed to have a high fever, based on the scanners. ~~~ Within Amy¡¯s mind, dozens of avatars scrambled hither and dither. ¡°They keep snapping! We need more tensile strength!¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been testing our neuron-equivalent flash ash. It¡¯s got more tensile strength than anything we can build!¡± ¡°Good! Hook them up to the units and see if we can slow them down on the shooting range!¡± ¡°Hey! Try these parachute designs!¡± ¡°They¡¯re great ¡­ 24, test the vectors!¡± ¡°On it!¡± ¡°How¡¯s the vibrational liquefaction coming?¡± ¡°We¡¯re still working out the kinks. Haven¡¯t found the smoothest way to burrow through concrete, but we¡¯re close.¡± Amy 1 stopped to look out the window, sipping a cup of mauby with calmness that belied the situation. ¡°Why is the mindscape on fire?¡± Amy 1 asked. ¡°That¡¯s the thing about kaleidoscopic consciousness,¡± Amy 58 noted, stepping up beside her. ¡°Spawning all these avatars doesn¡¯t create more mental energy. All we¡¯re doing is dividing what we already had. Combine that with squeezing hundreds and hundreds of thoughts into every moment? Yeah. We¡¯re overclocking it. Just a bit.¡± They spotted Amy 63 curled up in a corner. Not to mention she was just, casually, spontaneously combusting. ¡°You okay over there?¡± Asked Amy 1. ¡°Peachy,-just-peachy! This-is-ah-ha-HA-HAA! This-is-all-part-of-my-process!¡± rambled Amy 63. Amy 1 slowly nodded. ¡°Why don¡¯t you ¡­ take the rest of the day off. Sound good?¡± ¡°Th-th-tha-thank-you-Ma¡¯am!¡± 63 jittered. With that, the burning avatar ran at the window and hurled her sorry self out into the black beyond, never to be seen again. Amy 1 took another sip as she turned to 58. ¡°I dunno if kaleidoscopic consciousness was a good investment here. This is Black Friday at Allmart behaviour.¡± Amy 58 pushed up her glasses. ¡°Be that as it may, bouncing ideas off ourselves has been incredibly helpful. I¡¯d say it¡¯s a worthy investment.¡± ¡°Still haven¡¯t worked out a functional toy, though,¡± Amy 1 chided. ¡°WE DID DE TING!¡± Amy 2 and Amy 3 cheered in unison. The avatar workforce burst into applause. ~~~ No matter how quickly John Crow replaced the layers of protection, Norman continued to make progress. John Crow could see the glow of burning knuckles through the cocoon¡¯s shadows. He set the eyescraper to follow an algorithmic series of instructions. He¡¯d trained it well. It could autopilot while he ended this annoyance permanently. He flexed his claws in preparation for a good gutting. Sure, the building wouldn¡¯t behave quite as smartly without his guidance, but ¡­ oh ¡­ what was Amy up to? The moment he¡¯d turned his focus from piloting, she fired a series of projectiles he¡¯d never seen before. They flew independently of her main atmosphere. Each broke the sound barrier. He returned to piloting and warped to a spot where they weren¡¯t heading. It was a scattershot. Most of the projectiles wouldn¡¯t have hit him anyway. Was it some wild gamble that a random shot would do damage? Wait a minute ¡­ the projectiles had slowed. Beyond the influence of her aerokinetic atmosphere, they slowed enough to land against buildings without blasting straight through them. Membranes spread out from them, slowing their flight like parachutes. Ordinarily, that wouldn¡¯t be sufficient, but she¡¯d attached some kind of bungee cords to dozens of buildings and her main biomass. They ensured the projectiles didn¡¯t land like cannon balls. What was she playing at? They¡¯d touched down everywhere. Warping past them in one go wouldn¡¯t- KJFNIDSNFOINHAFEDIHFOAJJI!?!?! Somehow, Norman had silently peeled open the cocoon. Behind him, black and crimson lightning clashed as Amy¡¯s atmosphere fought his own for dominance of the control room. Silhouetted by the dim lightshow, the boy had just about lined up his flash knuckles for a shot. Okay. Nope. John Crow mentally threw off off the cocoon, keeping it between him and Norman. He set it upon the young man like a rabid dog. It morphed into an amorphous swarm of writhing shadows that engulfed Norman. He commanded them, to crush, and to crush, and to crush. ¡­ Surely Norman was dead, right? ¡°????????O????M???????N?????I??????DI????R??????E??????C??????T??????I?????O????N??????AL ?????B??????L?????IT???Z????????,???????¡±??????? Amy boomed. Energy signatures lit up everywhere. Their source? The projectiles she¡¯d peppered across the city. N-no way! This was a hunting net!? Those things would fire from all directions! Were they turrets of some type? Designed to function outside her main biomass? Around Norman, Dread¡¯s biomass vibrated to match the boy¡¯s voice: ¡°Are you done yet?¡± John Crow choked on his shock. Norman had hijacked more of his A.M.E. Enough to make it speak for him! Flash knuckle beams split the biomass. The slicing light shafted into John Crow¡¯s face. He jumped back. Though blind, he was still in touch with the sensors. The projectile units Amy fired up were not many. Just enough for him to block them, it seemed. He calculated the vectors and preemptively released dim bomb shields. Yes. He could block them ¡­ but why? She had so many units to fire from. Why¡¯d she activate so few? Why not overwhelm him? Of course, he could simply warp. Confidentially, he didn¡¯t like doing that. Every warp denatured the mercury vortex engine a little more, not to mention the energy cost. Come to think of it, chances were she didn¡¯t like when he warped either. Maybe she wanted him to think he could handle this without warping. He almost missed the subtle tremours. A sharp pain erupted at the base of the eyescraper as John Crow warped it into the sky. The eyes on the underside (the remaining ones, anyway) caught needle-like tendrils chasing his building into the air. Some had penetrated, though severed by the warp. The landlords on the lower floors were desperately fighting them off as they writhed for the vortex engine. She must have sent that thing underground. From the feel of it, it used vibrations to liquify soil, concrete and all so as to dig without digging. Fascinating. Why had this attack gone unannounced? Ah. Had she called her attacks this whole time, just to throw him off when they stopped lining up with her words? There¡¯d been no omnidirectional assault. The units she¡¯d scattered must have been decoys ¡­ or not. Once he was in the air, they all lit up. No more buildings, blocking their lines of sight. The perfect shot. This girl! This brilliant girl! Some fired. Hypersonic atmospheric blasts carved away chunks of his flyscreen and pounded Dread¡¯s aerosol shields. If those blasts had been part of Amy¡¯s atmosphere, the flyscreen would have absorbed their energy to resist them. Judo, basically. However, these blasts were air. Basic, garden variety, air. He warped. A split second later, other scattered units fired hyper-dense bullets at thousands of miles per hour. Had he been an instant slower? They would have gone straight through the holes made by the atmospheric blasts. Straight to the heart of the vortex engine. She must have retrofitted the clingshots¡¯ firing mechanisms into her weapons. He fled, keeping himself between the weapon modules and the far-off Brightside as much as possible. She wouldn¡¯t fire hypersonic rounds if missing him meant punching through several layers of populated area, would she? That girl made him wonder. His warps found cover behind lesser buildings as best as possible. Between warps, his eyescraper¡¯s tentacles scrambled across the ground to keep it moving like a fleeing animal. Piloting a skyscraper (as strange as that combination of words sounded in his head), the top often towered over all else. It made a good target, but Norman was up there with him. He doubted she¡¯d fire so close to Norman¡¯s position ¡­ right? Speaking of Norman, John Crow had come to an unpleasant realisation: he was being punched. Normally, Norman¡¯s punches would mean little to nothing, but with those knuckle gadgets? Their light, their electric sting? The blows rained like burning brimstone. They always landed on his liver. He, finally, set the eyescraper to run like mad on autopilot. His claws made a beeline for Norman¡¯s neck. Suddenly, John Crow was in the air. He felt the grip around his striking limb. Speaking of judo, it took him a moment to realise Norman threw him. Part 39 - Let the Pantheon Come ? _CHAT John Crow felt the grip around his striking limb. It took a moment to realise Norman threw him. By then, he was already smashing into the floor, head-first. Norman pointed. Amy Mini darted forward at his command. She splatted into John Crow¡¯s torso before he could rise. She morphed around his arms, binding him to the floor. Norman¡¯s whirling shadow fell upon him. He moved his head. The boy¡¯s foot came down where it had been. The impact actually cracked the ground. That should have been impossible, but Norman was using Dread against him. The traitorous A.M.E. bolstered Norman¡¯s blows, carried his movements faster and farther. From the descending kick, Norman flowed to his knees. His fist was in John Crow¡¯s face. Closing his eyes, John Crow lurched his head to the other side. The flash went off. Most of it missed. Even so, he saw it through his eyelids, smelt the organic flooring as it burnt, felt the heat hit his cheek like a whiplash. His heart pumped. He was terrified. Norman frowned at John Crow¡¯s rapidly heaving chest. He almost looked like a small, frightened animal. ¡°Hey, hold still,¡± Norman requested. ¡°I¡¯m trying to end this real quick. The more you squirm, the harder it gets.¡± John Crow¡¯s terror turned to fury as an ugly snarl erupted from his throat. "?????????WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, NORR????????R??????RMAN!?"??????????? came his rancorous roar. He tore free of Amy Mini. His claws surged forth. Dread blunted the blow, but it still came. Norman felt the floor leave his feet. He flew through the air. The blow forced a ragged cough from his throat, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue. His back bashed into the ceiling. He fell. Amy Mini detached from John Crow and darted up to help Norman. John Crow was hot on her heels. A powerful leap propelled him high. He caught up, snatched the little avatar and crushed it. Norman cocooned himself in Dread, just before John Crow reached him. "???????YOU¡¯RE UGLIER THAN AN OGRE!"????? John Crow thundered. His cyclonic kick drove Norman into the wall like a meteor. "?????YOU¡¯RE WEAKER THAN A GOBLIN!"????? Norman barely began to peel himself from the wall before John Crow grabbed him by the head, shoving him back into it. John Crow punched and ripped and bit. Dread¡¯s aerosol thwarted him. It was an excellent shock-absorber. He tore it off through sheer will and shearing claws. Amy¡¯s aerosol rushed to replace it, but how long would it last? One of his attacks would eventually make it through. Norman would die instantly. John Crow lacked the patience. Clutching Norman¡¯s skull through the aerosol, he dragged the boy across the fleshy wall, ignoring the eyescraper¡¯s discomforted groans. "??????YOU¡¯RE STUPID AS AN ORC!"???? He slammed Norman¡¯s skull against the wall, again and again. "??????YOU! ARE! NOT! HU??????MAN!"??? John Crow bellowed in time with his vicious attacks. He stopped, only to examine his victim. Was Norman dead? He sniffed for signs of fatal bleeding. If the attacks didn¡¯t reach him, the whiplash should at least break his neck or rupture something. John Crow took a good look at Amy¡¯s aerosol. It protected Norman in configurations more complex and cohesive than Dread had ever managed. Strange. It looked like an exoskeleton. He¡¯d made exoskeletons before. Norman himself had warped Dread into vague approximations during the battle. Not like this. Never like this. Its plating was like finely crafted, crimson glass. He saw arteries, like sinuous circuitry, carying luminous liquid beneath the surface. A sea of thick, syrupy substance fluctuated across the surface, enveloped in a red atmospheric layer. Some kind of shielding and a shock absorber, respectively. He could only assume. From all appearances, it was a true work of biomechanical art. ¡­ John Crow realised his error. He¡¯d removed Dread from Norman. Despite Norman¡¯s hijacks, the boy had never taken complete control of the dark A.M.E. Even so, it was in constant conflict with Amy¡¯s atmosphere. It kept her too incoherent to do something like this. With Dread gone, there was nothing to stop her from creating better builds around Norman.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. This still didn¡¯t make sense. How did Amy get precise commands to the biomass in the room? They¡¯d left her main atmosphere. With all his defenses, it shouldn¡¯t have been feasible. Ah ¡­ the answer was simple. She wasn¡¯t doing this. Even Amy Mini wasn¡¯t following her commands anymore. That left only one person in the room to call the shots. But ¡­ wasn¡¯t Norman half-dead after a beating like this? ¡°John ¡­ Crow ¡­¡± Norman croaked. FWEEEEEE ¡­ John Crow looked down. Norman¡¯s fist was at his neck. He must have snuck it up there, so slowly that it escaped all notice. John Crow froze, anticipating the torment of its light. He got more than that. One-Inch Punch: Flash Knuckle Edition. POW! A blow to his throat. John Crow gagged on the impact, staggering back. Norman slumped to the ground before finding his footing. His second set of flash knuckles steamed as they charged well beyond recommended capacity. FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ¡°You don¡¯t know what a human is,¡± Norman growled. He raised his steaming fist. FOOOOOM! John Crow screeched. The light scorched a blast shadow of his flailing form against the flesh walls. Through teary eyes, he watched Norman¡¯s silhouette saunter towards him. Calm. In control. Inexplicably terrifying. Amy¡¯s biomass enveloped the boy like ancient armour: solids, fluids, gasses, burning red. For the first time, Norman looked like a Human. A True Human. ¡°You don¡¯t know what planet you¡¯re standing on,¡± Norman continued. The eyescrapor¡¯s sensors sent an urgent notification. Amy¡¯s weapons found a line of sight to the mercury vortex engine. She fired a hypersonic round. John Crow pushed the building into a sloppy, half-warp. It avoided the round, but ended up sideways. Gravity tilted instantly, throwing John Crow into the wall. He had no time to adjust to gravitational dissonance. It felt like he was going to hurl. Norman remained standing on the sideways floor. The exoskeleton fixed his feet to the surface. He continued his slow, unshakable walk towards John Crow, as though nothing had changed. John Crow blinked. The moment he opened his eyes, Norman¡¯s flying kick was inches from his face. He dodged it. Barely. The kick found him anyway. It whipped his neck sideways. ~W-what?~ ¡°Why do the so-called gods of old look like us?¡± Norman asked. John Crow didn¡¯t understand! He¡¯d dodged! With that exoskeleton, Norman¡¯s kick felt like a bullet train to the jaw. Well, two could play at that game. ¡°We didn¡¯t anthropomorphise them,¡± Norman went on. ¡°They look like us ¡®cause we were born in the same forge, like brothers.¡± John Crow summoned his armour. Norman snapped his fingers. Amy¡¯s atmosphere came to life. Crimson lightning, everywhere. They ruined what little coherence Dread mustered for the armour. The message was clear. ¡®You. Can¡¯t. Do. That.¡¯ ( ( ¡°This world is a nursery¡± ) ) ( ( ¡°and a graveyard,¡± ) ) Norman went on. ( ( ¡°Training grounds¡± ) ) ( ( ¡°and battlefields ¡­¡± ) ) His voice came from everywhere. The aerosol worked like stereo. Wait, where was he? John Crow¡¯s wild eyes scanned the dancing lightning. A fist emerged. It was already in his face. John Crow blocked. It smashed his nose anyway. ( ( ¡°On this world,¡± ) ) ( ( ¡°the smallest deeds¡± ) ) ( ( ¡°drop like seeds ¡­¡± ) ) Norman boomed. ( (¡°¡­ sown in the soils¡± ) ) ( (¡°of eternity.¡±) ) John Crow slashed and punched, parried and weaved. His attacks yielded nothing. His defense meant nothing. Pain racked his body like carpet bombing. His lethal marriage of street fighting and nyctal ferocity was failing. Norman¡¯s movement arcs didn¡¯t make sense! ( ( ¡°By your deeds ¡­¡± ) ) John Crow lashed out, half-blindly. He caught something: Norman¡¯s fist! The lightning died down. Now, John Crow could hear his own pathetic panting. It didn¡¯t matter. He¡¯d caught Norman! He snickered and squeezed, digging his claws into the gauntlet. Norman smirked. John Crow¡¯s face fell. ¡°¡­ you have chosen to be my training dummy ¡­¡± FWEEEEEE ¡­ John Crow desperately tried to pull away. Amy¡¯s ¡­ Norman¡¯s aerosol pressed around him, like an ocean of hyper-dense cotton. He tried to exert his will against it. It budged, then pressed down all the harder. Why wasn¡¯t Dread helping him? He sensed that Dread had ¡­ thinned? That lightning storm must have killed or stunned much of the aerosol. He ordered more into the room, but it was a slow process. Norman¡¯s atmosphere was gatekeeping. ¡­ EEEEEEEEEEEE ¡­! The knuckles heated up against his palm. Steam rose from between his fingers. "???N-Norman! Wait!"??? he begged. ¡°No.¡± POOOOOM! John Crow screamed. At point blank, the flash knuckle blast hit his palm like a bomb. It blew away Dread and Amy¡¯s biomass indiscriminately. Norman¡¯s fist was briefly bare, before the armour sealed back up. John Crow gathered what aerosol he could. He flew, he fled, seeking refuge in the air. Norman was right there with him. A spectacular display of airborne melee. To the uninitiated, it could go either way. John Crow didn¡¯t have the luxury of that delusion. He couldn¡¯t land a single blow, couldn¡¯t stop or avoid Norman¡¯s. Now, he understood why. With aerosol under their command? He and Norman could fly, but John Crow always acted like up and down were a thing, because they were. Even when he oriented himself against gravity, he always came up with new sense of down. It was instinct. That sense vanished really fast as Norman smacked him around the room. Flight or not, he was a bipedal, terrestrial mammal. He fought like there was an invisible floor. But Norman? Norman fought like a man who forgot that gravity existed. He never stopped to right himself. Sideways, upside down, feet first, torso forward, all the in-betweens, they made no difference. Norman battled from any angle. His moves were unreal. He kicked off discs of aerosol, but his jumps seldom arced up and down like they should. For him, momentum was fluid. He bent it any way he pleased. His punches didn¡¯t follow the traditional curves of limb limitations. He would corkscrew his entire body, just to twist a fist around John Crow¡¯s defenses and nail him in the liver. John Crow had to get to the ground! He had to get out of the air, now! On the land, Norman fought like second nature, but this? This was first nature. A 3-dimensional martial art. What training did it take to learn this? How could such training exist? Had Norman been the A.M.E. instead of Amy, this battle would be over. As it was, he barely used the flashier techniques John Crow, knew he could. He didn¡¯t use them because he didn¡¯t need to. Who even was he? John Crow managed a lucky hit, swatting Norman away. Should ¡­ should he press the attack, now that he had a window? His body had already made a choice. His lips were already moving. "?????AWAY FROM ME, YOU CRASH OUT!"??????? John Crow cried. His legs were moving before they found the ground. Once they did, he ran, bolstering his speed with his atmosphere. Dread¡¯s tendrils yanked him forward faster, dragging him across the floor like a ragdoll. The escape chute! It was the only option! A hidden hatch flung open, preparing to receive him. Norman came down, slamming it shut with a double-footed stomp. Like the cornered critter that he was, John Crow pounced without thinking. Norman launched off the ground. Beneath one foot was a platform disc. The other sliced skywards in a vertical kick. 180 degrees. Heel met chin. John Crow felt the blow deep in his bones. "????????GURKK!"????? he gagged, spittle spraying from between his predatory teeth as they cracked. The heel rotated against his jaw as Norman reeled his free leg into a second kick. Toe first. Right in the liver. John Crow flew back. He didn¡¯t feel himself hit the ground. He was too busy clutching at his gut. TSK! A quick, flask knuckle beam sent his hands flinging from his stomach. Norman¡¯s aerosol pinned them to the ground. All extremities shared their fate. A biomass cocoon restrained Dread¡¯s tentacled locks. Norman danced atop him, each step bombarding weak points. Every time he broke free, Norman deftly kicked liberated limb back down, pinning it to the ground with more layers of biomass. ¡°Stop fighting,¡± Norman commanded. ¡°You¡¯re not The Big Bad, and you never will be.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± John Crow squeaked. ¡°No you¡¯re not.¡± "???I SURRENDER!"??? ¡°Good.¡± The hits kept coming. "?????STOP!"??? Norman heaved a sigh. ¡°Look bro, I hate this as much as you do.¡± John Crow somehow doubted that. ¡°Still, after everything you¡¯ve done?¡± Norman shook his head. ¡°No way I¡¯m handing you off to the police with the capacity to gut them. Your physiology doesn¡¯t seem to know what a K.O. is, so if you wanna surrender? Raise your head and hold it loose so I can educate with a goodnight punch.¡± "??????I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!"???????? John Crow wailed like a broken man. Norman stepped off him, fist cocked like a firearm just in case. ¡°¡­ What?¡± "????You¡¯re Human!"???? ¡°¡­ I mean, like, duh,¡± Norman shrugged. "???Y-you know that¡¯s not what I meant!"??? John Crow stammered. "???You talk like one with authority! You talk like Them!"??? Norman raised an eyebrow. ¡°Them, huh?¡± "??????????Stop playing dumb!"??????? John Crow whined. ¡°Stop being dumb,¡± Norman retorted. John Crow resisted the urge to disembowel, or try anyway. It wasn¡¯t hard. The way Norman stared at him? Murderous thoughts got shot down real fast Eyes narrowing, Norman tilted his head in a searing, side glare. The nyctal fidgeted under his gaze. Then Norman smiled. John Crow smiled back, though he wasn¡¯t sure if it was a good smile or a bad one. "?????Look, m-maybe we can help each other,"????? John Crow offered. "??????We both walk the path of the gods!"????? Norman¡¯s smile menaced to a grin. ¡°Ah. Them,¡± Norman purred. ¡°Johnny, Johnny, ohhhhhh, Johnny. Nahhhh.¡± Bad smile. Bad smile. Bad smile! ¡°All I¡¯ve ever needed was my Dad, my Bro, and my Friend,¡± Norman declared. ¡°So, let the pantheon come! Let the morningstar rise, that it may fall like lightning! We are enough for them, and we¡¯re more than enough for you.¡± It hit John Crow harder than anything Norman inflicted. Suddenly, the triple signature in Norman¡¯s mind made sense. The boy was allied with That One!? SHLUNK! John Crow looked back. A keychain jutted out of his waist. He eyed its hurler: Mr. Squeam. The landlord spent the better part of the fight trying to find his way out of the room, which John Crow mostly sealed to prevent just that. It would¡¯ve been hilarious if John Crow weren¡¯t fighting for his life. Something Norman did or said must have galvanised Mr. Squeam to fight at the last moment. John Crow cracked a crooked grin before collapsing. Mr. Squeam marched right past him, up to Norman. Were those ¡­ tears in his eyes? He shoved Norman against the wall. Raising a fist, the landlord stopped. His arm trembled as he hissed. Norman was more confused than anything. The armour would absorb whatever Mr. Squeam could dish, but why was the landlord holding himself back? A shaky Mr. Squeam unhanded Norman, wiping the tears from his face. ¡°WHY DIDN¡¯T YOU TELL ME!?¡± he bawled.