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rogueshadeaux · 17 days ago

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Chapter Forty-Four — Repertoire

“They’re all working for someone Dad knew before. Like, Seattle-before. Some woman that escaped Curdun Cay and gave him a hard time before disappearing.” “She wants Conduits to be free,” I explained. “She doesn’t like what’s happening right now and wants it to change, and she’s sure it’s not gonna unless…unless she starts making moves herself.”

8.6k words | 45-50 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of: death, kidnapping, hostage situations. Xenophobia mentions in anti-conduit terms (political climate also mentioned). Mild transphobia reference.

No one spoke after we left.

No one spoke. Not as we got on the highway and left Portland behind, not as we crossed the border into Washington. The most speaking anyone did was Zeke, who only did so to confirm Mei’s car was still following us whenever Dad asked, Dr. Sims at the helm of the Honda to ‘protect the kids.’

We followed the highway into the Evergreen state, only veering off at a familiar exit—Battle Ground State Lake State Park. Dad used to take us camping here during the summers, a lifetime ago, experiences that only existed in my memory as flashes of early morning fishing and trapping fireflies in plastic water bottles.

Dad was in the passenger’s seat, the unfolded dove in his unmoving hands. He didn't move at all, actually; he stared straight as a board and still as a statue in the front seat, staring down at the letter Celia had left behind.

Put your nose to the ground, Delsin. Sniff out the blood in the water, and come learn everything you’ve missed.

The van eventually pulled in at the parking lot just by the lake, Zeke immediately throwing it into park as Dad got out without waiting to see if it was. He only paused long enough to open the rear doors for Brent and I to get out before making a beeline for Mei’s Honda, Dr. Sims barely able to get out of the driver’s seat before Dad was accosting him.

“We need to get into this link,” he immediately said, holding up Celia’s dove.

A trilling motor cried out and Aunt Sia burst through the trees, skidding to a stop on the gravel of the lake access lot. She pulled off her helmet, shaking her head to get her bangs out of her face. “I think we’re in the clear,” she said, dropping the kickstand and getting off the bike. “I didn’t see anyone following you two at all.

Dr. Sims frowned. “That’s…good,” he said, sounding entirely unconvinced of the fact. “But I can’t guarantee they didn’t get any live footage from the drone before…”

Before Cat used her powers to destroy it.

Her powers.

Brent and I stood side-by-side as she rose from the backseat of the Accord way slower than Dom and Mei did, taking forever to work her way towards us as she avoided our curious stares. Cat was a Conduit. Cat was a Conduit.

How many times was I going to get hoodwinked like this?

Dad cursed, looking seconds away from trying to solve his issues through either drinking or violence. “Okay, let’s—” he sucked his teeth, trying to gather his thoughts. “Let’s just try to get online first. We need to find what Celia wants us to find.”

“Delsin—” Dr. Sims began, exhaustion in his voice.

Dad, though, immediately cut him off. “There’s two kids in danger here, Eugene. She’s threatening my kids. ‘New players enter the game’?” He motioned to Zeke’s van. “Grab your laptops.”

“I can’t believe it,” Dom murmured under his breath as Dr. Sims relented, opening the back of Zeke’s van to retrieve his bags. Dom looked between Brent and I with wide eyes. “Your dad really is Delsin Rowe.”

“Yeah, it was kinda the same when we found out, too,” Brent muttered as Mei slotted between us. Cat was still taking far too long to join our group, staring down at her feet and kicking rocks as she walked.

“Did you know?” I asked, glancing at Mei. She and Cat…I wouldn’t say they were closer, as we all were pretty close—but even in friend groups, you have favorites. And she and Cat were close, just like Reese and I were.

Apparently, though, not close enough. “No, I—none of us knew,” she insisted, Dom nodding vehemently in agreement. “She never told me, at least.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt there’s no reason she’s kept it a secret for this long,” Brent muttered, crossing his arms.

Cat finally crossed the threshold of being within earshot—and for that reason, none of us spoke. There was a long, possibly multi-minute pause where we all looked at Cat, and she refused to meet our eyes, looking at the grit on the ground instead.

Finally, I cracked first, asking a simple question: “How long?”

Cat inhaled deeply Three years, she admitted, hands falling back to her sides in defeat.

“Does Tommy know?” Dom immediately asked.

Cat’s hands seemed to become lead at that.

Brent scoffed. “‘Course he doesn’t,” he said, sardonic. “Because you know your cousin’s the type to leave people for dead in alleyways and tell the world about it instead of not be a prick.”

“Brent,” I hissed. I get it, he was upset with Tommy and everything he’s done—but now wasn’t the time to use Cat as the emotional punching bag for his issues with Tommy.

“He is!” Brent said instead, glaring at me before turning his eyes back on Cat. “That’s why you never told him, huh?”

Tommy’s been through a lot— Cat began trying to defend, Brent speaking over her.

“Please,” he scoffed. “His parents dying to a Conduit doesn’t excuse any of this shit—him or your grandfather. You haven’t told anyone because you know exactly what they would’ve said if you told them you were a Conduit.”

You saw how my grandfather reacted when I told him I was a girl, Cat signed, scowling in offense. He barely accepted me then. Why would I tell him about this?

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Brent retorted in turn, swinging out an arm to motion towards me. “Jean and I wouldn’t have cared!”

“Brent, that’s enough,” I snapped. Brent clamped his mouth shut but stayed scowling; he hated being lied to, and this omittance counted—in his eyes, at least.

And while I knew Cat was entitled to keep her secrets her own, I felt a bit hurt that she kept this from us for three years. “We’re not your grandfather,” I reminded her. “You could’ve told us. We would’ve kept it a secret from him—”

And Tommy? She asked, face deadpan. You think we would have been able to keep it secret from him?

I didn’t have a good response to that. No, we wouldn’t have; Tommy probably would’ve found out very quickly, and would’ve been pissed we kept it from him. But that wasn’t my biggest concern with this whole situation. “You shouldn’t have been alone,” I murmured sympathetically.

Cat’s expression wavered, and for the briefest moment, I saw everything she must’ve felt in those three years where she had to lie to us about who she was; the sadness and pain and grief of having to shove yet another part of herself into a closet out of fear of how people would react.

And I did the only thing I could think to do; I stepped forward and pulled her into a hug before she could try to protest.

Cat, admittedly, froze the moment I yanked her forward, and there were another two or three seconds where she didn’t move at all. But then her arms came to wrap around my shoulders in turn, her cheek resting on my forehead as I felt the air escape from her lungs in exhale and her whole body relax in relief—finally, someone knew. Finally, she wasn’t alone.

There was another hand on my back and soon Mei joined, the same girl group hug we’d do in the bathrooms or after a breakup. The close sisterhood, the love, the caring reminder that we’d all be there for each other.

Only there was a gap on my left where my best friend should have been.

We pulled back, Mei murmuring words of encouragement to Cat—though she didn’t seem to be paying attention. At some point she must have felt the press of my cast’s lattice on her because now she was looking down at my right arm like it was an enigma. Something strange and incorrect—and now that I knew she was a Conduit, and she knew I was, too—I realized to her, it was. A broken bone on a Conduit was wrong in her eyes.

Which is why I avoided them when she looked up at me, instead pulling the sleeve of my jacket further over my arm.

Mei returned to Brent’s side and tucked herself in as Dom looked down at Cat, a ghost of a smile on his face. “So what is your power, anyways?” He asked her.

Now that there was an alleviation to the tension here, Cat began to tell us all about her power: wax. She wasn’t sure what kind, since it didn’t exactly seem to be something like regular candle wax, but also didn’t seem like tallow or something like beeswax. It’s just…wax, she said with a simple shrug. Burns like it, smells like it, but I can’t tell you how it becomes…different after I drain something to use.

Brent, who seemed to let go of most of his upset now that he was being involved and informed, asked, “So what, you can drain any wax?”

Cat nodded, adding for emphasis, Why do you think I own so much chapstick?

That also explained why I caught her eating the end of one in secret in the bathroom one time, though I wasn’t going to mention it. I just thought she really liked cherry flavoring.

Mei looked up at Brent, whose face was beginning to turn pink from exposure to the elements. All those powers and he wasn’t saved from his eczema. “And you’re steel?” She asked.

Brent seemed a bit proud of the fact when, instead of outright answering, his pink nose dipped lighter and lighter till becoming grey, the color spreading across his face and down his neck as he showed off his steel abilities.

Cat gasped in surprise as Dom said, “Dude, that’s fucking sick,” with a disbelieving laugh while Mei stood on her toes to reach up and touch a strand of his needle thin, cable-like hair in fascination. I just rolled my eyes. What a show-off.

Okay, that’s way cooler than what I can do, Cat signed, nodding like she was impressed.

And then she looked at me, and asked the worst thing she possibly could. What can you do with your water powers?

Oh, nothing, bestie! I just get sicker if I use them too often. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this? Especially when Mei settled down on her boots to turn towards me, Dom crossing his arms and doing that lopsided, aloof grin.

“I—” I stumbled awkwardly. “I mean, nothing like Brent’s steel skin.”

Dom huffed out a chuckle. “Yeah, but you can make a whole whirlpool in the ocean,” he pointed out. “Seriously, that thing was huge. Someone online said it was, like, five stories high.”

“And you did that tidal wave too,” Mei added, too cheerful for the damage that mentioned tsunami caused. I killed hundreds, I ruined Christmas, and she had her eyes alight like it was a sick party trick I pulled at her family’s pool.

What else can you do? Cat asked, quickly adding, my powers become viscous but not liquid—I’ve always wondered how liquid powers work!

“Yeah, you’ve got to show us something,” Mei agreed, Dom nodding in agreement behind her.

Oh, god, this could not be happening right now.

I felt the weight of their gaze, of their expectations; I should’ve been able to show off my power with ease, it should’ve been simple! I could’ve evaporated on the spot or swirled some water around my fingers and call it a day. But I wasn’t even allowed to do that—a fact that I definitely didn’t wanna bring up now. Hey, guys, on top of Tommy and Reese being kidnapped, guess who’s got a failing conduit organ?

I wasn’t gonna say that

So instead I chuckled nervously, saying, “I don’t know, guys—it’s late, those people could still be after us and we really don’t need to be showing off right now—“

“Oh come on, Jean!” Mei interrupted, playfully stomping a foot. “I want to see what you can do! There has to be something simple.”

“I really—“ I struggled to find a new rung on the ladder of bullshit to climb up to try to get out of this. “I’m pretty low on my power, too, I’d rather hold off—“

Dom looked at me like I was an idiot. “There’s a lake behind you.” He deadpanned.

I glanced back at the lake. Right. Shit.

I looked at Brent, trying to use that twin telepathy people were so sure existed to scream at him get me the hell out of this! but he just stood there with a dumb, deer-in-headlights expression.

God, brothers are useless.

Mei was still looking at me in excitement, Dom raising a brow—but it was Cat’s slightly suspicious glare that had me on edge, the stroma seeming to darken a bit like she was looking for a twitch in my facade. Not that she needed one; the proof of my hesitance lay in the arms I crossed, the cast pressing against my chest as a nice, firm reminder of why exactly they were all eyeing me in the silence.

I was in the middle of debating telling them the truth or doing a little party trick when Dad gave me the grace of a distraction in the noise of a long, drawn out slew of curse words as he hit the hood of Zeke’s van.

Dad, Dr. Sims, Zeke and Aunt Sia were perched around the hood, watching Dr. Sims as he switched between two of his laptops like a frantic animal trying to find an out—or, in this case, a way in. Into whatever little hole Celia had carved out to lead us to…well, hopefully Reese and Tommy, though at this rate I wasn’t sure what to believe.

“Your dad really is Delsin Rowe,” Dom repeated his statement from earlier, awe and something akin to distrust in his expression, like he was waiting for Brent and I to yell sike and say this was all a ruse. Neither of us did. “And that’s—that’s Eugene Sims. And you said the other guy was Cole MacGrath’s friend?”

I sighed, just thankful the attention wasn’t on me anymore. “Yeah, that’s Zeke Dunbar,” I said. “He was there when Cole got his powers and all that stuff in Empire City. And Aunt Sia was apparently Dr. Sims’ friend in high school.”

Cat hummed some disbelieving sound. Wow, so you’re connected to everyone from the Seattle Uprisings in some way, she said, looking at me. That must be crazy.

Brent scoffed. “Understatement of the fucking century,” he muttered.

Mei kept her eyes on Dad, squinting in analysis like she was dissecting him under a microscope. “Who were those people who came to the school?” She asked, finally peeling her eyes from Dad to look between us.

Brent and I glanced at each other, silently debating whether we should even tell them anything—would it be okay to? Would it be safe to? He raised a brow and I shrugged—they were already involved in some way. It was too late to keep them out of the bullshit that followed our family name.

Brent gave the smallest nod before looking down at his girlfriend—God, that was still weird to think about, looking at them two so close and not standing on other sides of the group and making googoo eyes at each other—and beginning to explain. “They’re all working for someone Dad knew before. Like, Seattle-before. Some woman that escaped Curdun Cay and gave him a hard time before disappearing.”

“She wants Conduits to be free,” I explained. I had been in her mind, felt that hunger. Her betrayal at the mere idea of letting go of her own freedoms, her powers, to have a chance at Conduits being accepted into society was enough to make her betray Augustine, someone I could feel she had the same love I felt when I was with Dad. “She doesn’t like what’s happening right now and wants it to change, and she’s sure it’s not gonna unless…unless she starts making moves herself.”

If she followed her convictions enough to do that, she was dangerous.

Dom huffed. “But Conduits are free,” he said, rolling his eyes like it was stupid simple. Like it was obvious.

He became very sheepish when Brent, Cat and I all turned in place to look at him like he was an idiot.

“Seriously, dude?” Brent asked, almost offended that he’d even say anything like that.

“What?” He asked, throwing up a hand when he saw how we all were looking at him. “It’s true! Conduits haven’t had to be in Curdun for years now.”

“Yeah, okay, and there were a hundred years between the slavery being abolished and the Civil Rights act,” Brent pointed out, something Dom scowled at—especially as a Black man.

“What Brent is saying,” I interrupted before Brent’s deadpanned matter-of-factism could end with a foot in his mouth and a fist in his face. “Is that…well, yeah, we’re out here, but things aren’t exactly going well, you know? They’re trying to force Conduits to sign up in registries and everything.”

There’s a dude running for president this year who’s whole campaign is that we should be locked up like before, Cat added.

“Or shipped off,” Brent added, crossing his arms. He was all skin once more, but the ends of his hair were going grey the more he thought about it, revealed by his lack of beanie. “Seriously, who the hell thinks bringing segregation back is going to do anything?”

“I don’t know if I would call it segregation when they’re trying to make camps like the ones my hii-oji was sent to when he was a child,” Mei corrected. “They’re talking about that 990-something executive order. That’s internment camps.”

“Not to mention the states that’re requiring ID for Conduits,” Brent added in agreement, looking down at Mei. “They’re trying to make that a federal law. All it’s missing is an arm ba–”

“Alright, I get it, damn,” Dom said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I knew things were bad but—I mean, I never really thought that would happen,” He defended. “It—it all sounds so ridiculous that I never thought they’d actually do it, you know?”

I rubbed my own arm; that was fair, I suppose, if this was something that was simply rumor. But there was one issue. “It’s already happening,” I pointed out. Dom was about twenty years too late on hoping it was too insane.

Because it happened once already.

Our conversation didn’t get to continue; Dad exclaimed, “Oh thank God,” as he immediately commandeered one of Dr. Sims’ computers from him, scrolling. Zeke disappeared into the driver's side of his van and came out with a yellow notepad and a pen, nodding along as Dad narrated something for him to jot down. They all looked serious, but more so now; instead of being confronted by the puzzle that was getting in, now they were debating some sort of solution to whatever was presenting itself.

“That seems good,” Brent hummed, looking at me. “Think they finally got an answer?”

“That, or at least something to start with,” I agreed.

Cat glanced at the group, eyes hovering on Dad before she offhandedly signed, So what happens now?

I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

This, she replied vaguely. This random group that stole Tommy and Theresa, the demands they had for your dad. What happens now?

I hesitated. What did happen now that we were here? Dad seemed fully intent on saving them, and that meant hunting down Celia. Not to mention he looked like he needed no motivation to do that when I told him of the fleeting visions I had of Celia there for every moment. At Mom’s labor, at the marina, there answering a message about me in the back of a van. Regardless of what was going to happen here, he was going to hunt Celia down��Tommy and Reese were just secondary objectives to the real goal.

“I…guess we try to find where these people took Reese and Tommy,” I said, looking at Cat. “The person Dad’s trying to find leaves behind clues, makes this sort of…a scavenger hunt for him. He’s gotta follow the pieces.”

“Sorry—she kidnapped Theresa and Tommy and is making your dad play hide and seek?” Mei asked, holding up a hand. That same hand tossed up in disbelief. “Who the hell does something like that?”

A monster.

I watched Dad throw his head back and groan aloud, exhausted from whatever search Celia had him on. Truthfully, we all were tired; I don’t think I got much sleep in the back of the van—at least not anything substantial—and I doubted Dad even slept at all. “She’s using them to get to Dad,” I said, finally answering Mei. “It’s not about finding them, it’s about using them to lead him to her.” I looked between my friends. “And showing him something along the way. Whatever she has to show him is more important than—than the safety of a bunch of kids in school or anything.”

Cat frowned. That’s insane, she said. Her power could have fried any one of us if she wanted.

Her power?

Celia’s power was…well, it was paper, which, while it apparently was enough to kill someone by a thousand paper cuts, wasn’t something that could fry someone. Not by a long shot.

I didn’t get to ask the question, though; instead, off to the side, Aunt Sia asked, “Did you say fried?”

Everyone turned to look at Aunt Sia—she had somehow approached us without a single one realizing in spite of the gravel at our feet that crunched with the slightest shift in posture. I hadn’t realized she was so light on her feet—or maybe that’s a talent she’s kept to herself from her days in Project Sanctuary.

Regardless, she glanced between us all, eyes especially hovering on Dom, Cat and Mei as she said, “I need you all to tell me everything you can about the attack on the school.”

My brow rose. “Is everything okay?”

Aunt Sia weighed her responses in her mind, head tilting back and forth until she found her answer. “Sort of. We need to pinpoint something and I just want to make sure all of our bases are covered, so we’re not missing something crucial.” She crossed her arms. “So I need you three to tell me everything you remember.”

Dom went first.

Period change between second and third had just happened, and he was still drying off from the showers when he heard screaming in the lockers after gym. Some people from the halls had managed to book it down to the Phys Ed wing and tuck away—he had barely left before he turned back around and hid in the supply closet in the gym with a bunch of other students, herding them in before bracing against the door to make sure it couldn’t swing in.

Mei seemed more shaken than I originally thought as she started her account; her eyes immediately went downward when Aunt Sia looked at her, and she began to fidget with the bottom hem of her jacket as she recounted how she hid away in the library. She didn’t have much of a plan, she said; she was going to listen out for the attacker and pray she could outmaneuver them by hiding at the ends of the bookshelves. She stumbled through her retelling so much that Brent had to throw an arm around her in support.

“You were in the library?” I asked. “I thought third period was your Econ class.”

Mei swallowed back whatever bile the thought had brought up. “I, yeah—it is. I was sent to get copies before class started and left to grab a book while Ms. Adler did that for me.”

Aunt Sia kept her steely analytical eyes on Mei for a moment before humming—something Mei said registered in her mind, though she didn’t say anything aloud.

Cat, though, had it the worst, as she was there the moment they took Tommy.

We hid in the stairwell, she told us. We didn’t see when they came in but we heard it—they were loud, and there was a lot of banging. Tommy, he—you know he knows what that sounds like, she said, looking between Brent and I so we could vouch for her. He knew it wasn’t guns, but wasn’t sure what it was, so we hid until we could make sense of what was happening.

Aunt Sia nodded. “Smart,” she murmured. I couldn’t help but agree—Tommy hiding them but keeping them where they could hear what was happening could’ve been the difference between life and death.

Something he must’ve carried within himself from last time.

We were hiding, waiting to see if we needed to go into the science wing or run downstairs, when we heard the woman tell the others to look for him, she said, eyes faraway. Another person that mattered to me, another haunted look. I kept telling him we needed to go, we needed to hide, but he wouldn’t move. At first I was worried he was frozen, you know, because of his PTSD—but after a moment when we heard more—more crashes and screaming, he stood and told me to go hide.

Brent blinked. “He gave himself up?” He asked incredulously.

Cat nodded. He did, she said. I tried to stop him, tried to tell him that it was dangerous, but he said he didn’t want anything worse to happen because of him. Cat looked down at the gravel, shoulders sagging with the weight of what happened—and the subsequent choices she made. I didn’t…I watched him go down the stairs, and a few seconds later, heard him call out to the people. He told them his name, and said that he was there, so they could leave. He was demanding they leave. I didn’t know they already had Theresa until I heard him say her name and ask them to not hurt her. That’s when I finally moved to peek over the third floor breezeway and watched them be dragged away. She chewed on her inner cheek, eyes brimming with tears in the pale moonlight. I just watched them get carried away and I…I froze. I did nothing. I should have done something.

My heart broke, the shatter making me take a step forward. “Kitty, no, you couldn’t have done—”

I should have done something, she insisted with a huff through her nose, the movements of her signing firm enough to enunciate even through the language barrier. I have powers, I could have done something! Instead I froze and let those assholes take my cousin, she threw a hand up in punctuation.

Brent started to speak, “Cat, you did what was best—” before he was interrupted by Aunt Sia.

“It’s traumatizing, watching someone you care about get taken away like that,” she said empathetically, taking a step forward. “You sort of…spiral, and begin to think about things that could’ve been different. You could’ve said something different, or insisted hard enough, or if you had just convinced them to go somewhere that, in hindsight, would’ve been the perfect hiding spot—”

She cut off, throwing a glance back over her shoulder, eyes hovering on her best friend, Dr. Sims. All this chaos, and I forgot she knew Dr. Sims before he even developed powers; was she there the day he did? Was she there the day he was taken?

She righted her eyes once more, a hand going over her leather-wrapped heart. “I get it, okay? And I need you to understand there is nothing you could have done to change this. Realistically, the people that attacked your school would have kept attacking, if they stayed. They would’ve kept searching for him, and—well, there’s a chance your cousin saved lives by giving himself up, including yours. Definitely yours, if you had made your power known at all. We still don’t know a lot about Archangel, but we know enough about its leader to know it would’ve ended badly for you if you intervened.

“And we’re not going to stop until we find him, okay? That’s why I need you to tell me everything that happened.” She lowered her hand from her heart, letting Cat take a moment to calm herself before asking, “What happened after you raised yourself enough to see them taking your friends?”

Cat inhaled deeply before raising her hands. I didn’t actually move until I heard the woman yell about leaving, that they had ‘their targets.’ They dragged Tommy and Theresa through the front gate. The woman who was telling everyone what to do was on the second story breezeway across from me—

Aunt Sia immediately straightened at that. “You saw the woman?” She asked. “Can you tell me more about her?” This was different; seeing someone use a power was one thing, sure, but the woman who outright threatened Dad with that message on the courtyard being seen? Maybe we could use that. We could confirm it was Celia.

She was blonde, Cat said. Had a hat on, one of those….I can only describe it as French? What are those called—

“Beret?” Mei asked.

Cat nodded. Yeah, kind of like those. More slouchy. She had a brown coat, a long one, scarf around her neck. The weird thing though was that she was hard to look at. Like, she was surrounded by this light that was way too bright.

I looked at Aunt Sia, who was already looking at me like she was waiting for confirmation from someone else, someone that knew…“That’s not Celia,” I said.

She nodded in thought, hand absentmindedly fiddling with her braid. “It’s not,” she agreed.

Brent sighed hard. “So there’s more than just the crazy suicidal lady,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dom’s eyes widened—for someone who was usually aloof, he was quick to figure things out when he was paying attention. “Wait, so—the person you all were sure had something to do with this, that woman’s not her?”

Aunt Sia held up a placating hand. “We know she’s still involved,” she reassured him—especially when his words seemed to make Cat’s hackles raise in alarm. “She’s the cause of this in some capacity. More than likely, she sent someone trusted to kidnap your friends.”

Okay, but who? Cat demanded. If you guys don’t know who took my cousin, then how are you even supposed to find him? Or Theresa?

Aunt Sia watched Cat’s hands for a moment, that hand on her own braid paused as I watched her eyes seemingly flash in the moonlight as the thoughts behind them ran like pistons, trying to connect dots.

Which is why it was no surprise when Aunt Sia, instead of continuing to calm everyone down, asked, “What else happened?”

Cat blinked, looking at Aunt Sia like she hadn’t heard her correctly at first—but something settled in the fugue of her panic and she exhaled shakily, raising her hands once more. She was—I told you she was on the second balcony, right? She asked, everyone nodding in confirmation. Okay. She was there, and that weird light around her flashed and she disappeared. I didn’t realize she was on the rooftop until there was a huge light ray that was carving that message into the courtyard.

Mei was the first to voice it. “She teleported?” She asked, looking up at Brent. “Conduits can teleport?”

“Not usually. Not unless their power allows it.” Aunt Sia answered instead.

Cat, though, shook her head. I wouldn’t say she teleported. Well, she sorta did, but it wasn’t just her disappearing. It was the bright light–like you said, her power. She had someone standing beside her on the rooftop, a man, and once she was done with the message, instead of disappearing, there was this weird…

Cat struggled to find the word, instead taking a moment to broaden in a wide circle with her hands before going back to signing. This huge circle was behind her. Blue. It appeared behind them when they were talking and then they turned and walked into it and disappeared.

Blue circle.

My eyes traveled away from the group, looking out at the gray lake in the pale moonlight, and suddenly I was there, back in the Puget Sound watching something on the other end of the waters widen further and further until those soldiers came out of it, ice at their fingertips. The same person that attacked the school, took Tommy and Theresa, was the same person who helped Augustine and those soldiers attack the Akomish reservation.

Attacked me.

Nearly killed me.

I had really only used it once, but I became very used to the idea that I could breathe underwater. Especially after the first time I used the ability, when everything seemed so peaceful and bright and exciting. But now? I was reminded of what it felt like to drown. Between the numbers and the abilities, I felt like we were all in over our heads. Because if they could kidnap me, Tommy and Reese, if they could bomb COLE, if they could nearly kill me….

What else could they do?

Aunt Sia’s voice brought me back to the current conversation, asking, “Did you happen to hear any of their conversation before she disappeared? Anything about a location, or somewhere to fall back to?” Cat shook her head, and Aunt Sia tried her best to not seem disappointed. “Thank you for telling me all of this,” she said instead with that gently placating sincerity in her tone that always brought a bit of calm to you when you were upset, like a mother’s gentle hum. She smiled, though the action seemed a bit stressed, and then turned to leave, heading back towards the others by the van.

We watched her leave in silence, everyone paused with bated breath like they were scared to be the first to break it—though mine wasn’t out of fear. I waited until Aunt Sia was far out of hearing range before turning to look at Cat. “The portal—did it look like those solar flares that come off of the sun?” I asked. “Sorta wispy, a bit purple at the edges?”

She blinked, surprised I even knew that, before nodding. It did. How do you—

I turned before she even finished the question to head towards Dad.

I held up a hand, signaling for them to just wait a minute when Brent asked me what the hell I was doing as I was two steps behind Aunt Sia. Zeke was looking down at the long list on his notepad as Dr. Sims was trying to calm Dad down, a placating hand out.

Not that it was doing much. I caught the tail end of Dad’s rant the closer we approached: “—impossible to figure this out without it taking days,” he insisted, hand running through his hair. That same hand motioned off both abruptly and vaguely as he added, “Those kids don’t have that sort of time!”

“They’ve put up a ton of firewalls and heuristic scans,” Dr. Sims told Dad. “I can try to use a recursive backdoor exploit, but I’d have to map out the subnet first. It’ll take some time—”

“We don’t have time,” Dad stressed again, a bit more forceful.

Aunt Sia finally joined the group, starting with, “I don’t think anything they told me will help—” before a particular patch of gravel crunched under my feet and they all paused to look up and see who was approaching—something Dad especially didn’t seem to want to deal as he sighed, trying to keep his tone level to keep me from worrying, like he always did. And always failed to. “Jean, go—go hang out with your friends for a while while we figure this out—”

“The person that attacked the school helped attack Salmon Bay,” I said, getting straight to the point. “And I don’t think it’s Celia.”

That at least got his attention.

Aunt Sia told the men what Cat had explained to her, and I waited till the end of the conversation to add that those portals were near-exactly like what I saw when I was fighting Augustine in the Puget Sound. By the time I was done, Zeke was nodding slowly while Dad stared off at the paint of the van, Dr. Sims too busy typing to really commit to a look of thoughtfulness.

“So that confirms it,” Zeke said, looking at Dad. “Celia’s got a second-in-command.”

Dad hummed—or, it sounded more like a badly disguised groan—while he chewed on his inner cheek. “One that’s doing the dirty work while she works behind the scenes,” he huffed. “Glad to see not much has changed.”

“Whoever it is, Celia trusts,” Aunt Sia said.

“And that’s hard to come by,” Dr. Sims added. “I’ll look into finding local footage, see if we can get a start on figuring out who this person is.” He was typing like a madman on his computer, not even pausing in the strikes as he looked up at Aunt Sia. “But we don’t know where they could have gone?”

Aunt Sia shook her head. “No,” she confirmed. “The tall one, D….Don?” She asked, looking at me.

“Dom,” I told her. I tacked on uselessly, “Short for Dominic.”

“Dom—he was in the lockers,” she told Dad. “Brent’s girlfriend says she was in the library, and while Tommy’s cousin could see him being taken away, she didn’t hear anything that’d help us.”

Dad groaned. “So we’re no closer to finding out which one of these places they could be.”

I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

There was this brief moment where Dad looked at me, opened his mouth, and I could practically see the insistence that I not worry about it on the edge of his chapped lips—but then he froze. He paused, snapped his mouth shut, and after a beat, the insistence floated away on the frosted air of his exhale. “We’re having trouble finding where your friends are,” he admitted.

The chill that ran down my spine had nothing to do with the winter air. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, moving to lean against the grill of the van, “That I think Celia had this all planned to where I was supposed to use the mobile command center, to directly access their records. But since your friend triggered the alarms, it shut everything down.”

My chest felt like lead. “So you…you have no idea where they are?”

Zeke held up a hand. “We’ve got some ideas,” he reassured me, motioning towards the hood of the van where the dove lay unfolded and on its front, revealing the letter Celia wrote Dad. “We figured the crazy lady is using some sort of old DUP facility based on the letter, and Eugene managed to use the old DUP stuff he had to pinpoint a secret file of locations. But it’s not exactly a short list,” he said, flipping his hand to show me the other side of the pad.

Oh, that was….a lot of locations.

‘Locations’ was a loose term. Some were obvious—Curdun Cay, stations in other cities. The big major holding cell on the East Coast that was destroyed a while ago in a hurricane. But there were a lot of other things, words and phrases and even simple acronyms that just didn’t make sense, things only those that’ve worked with the DUP in the past would’ve even had a chance at cracking. Lowcountry. ABDA. Newbrant, Chilling, JST, Purcell, Fa—

Purcell.

Zeke kept talking, but it didn’t really register to my ears; that one word seemed to peel off of the pad and float in my vision, the word repeated again and again in my head but not my tone of voice. No, the voice was more authoritative, cooler and firmer like the concrete she had wielded.

“Which is why I’m giving approval for the detainee to be sent to our research facility in Purcell. If we can find a way to harness that ability? The DUP would never fall.”

“—trying our best to find them—” Dad said when I came back to earth, taking my silence for fear and rushing to reassure me. Instead, I interrupted him.

“It’s Purcell.”

Dad faltered as everyone else raised their heads to look at me, confusion on their faces. “What?”

I tried to keep up with my thoughts and outline them in a way that would make sense, despite how insane it all seemed—but I told Dad the story once and I assumed he told the others, considering they were still here. “I—when Garrett was showing me things, the memories they had of what Celia had shown them—there was the moment Celia defected. Augustine was telling her about this—this Conduit that she found that could ‘negate’ another Conduit’s powers if he was near them. She sent the Conduit to this place called Purcell to find a power to go with his ability so that she could use it to turn off Conduits so they could ‘reenter’ society. It’s why Celia left her, Dad.” I told him, watching his eyes widen with every word. All I told him, and somehow I missed telling him all this to instead inform him about what Celia did to Mom. “They wanted to give this Conduit a physical power to make the implants like Garrett had actually work, so Conduits didn’t have powers and could live in society. And Celia didn’t like that, so she left Augustine alone when you fought her in the Sea6News tower.”

Zeke slowly lowered the notepad as I rambled on, glancing to meet Dad’s eyes when I paused. “If Dr. Hutch was correct and the signatures on Garrett and Jean matched—” He began.

“That means they found a compatible power,” Dad finished in agreement. “Probably sped everything up that they could while we were all on trial, threw the implant in Garrett as a minimum, and Celia managed to recruit them after the DUP lost all funding a year later.” He spun around, zeroing in on Dr. Sims. “Do you know if they found this Purcell place like the others?”

“I can look,” Dr. Sims acquiesced, moving to the passenger’s side door of the van to grab another one of his laptops. He booted it up, moving to go through the plethora of file’s he had stored on it and began working away.

Meanwhile, Dad had gone digging for his phone in his pocket as Aunt Sia moved to give Dr. Sims room to work, settling in beside Dad and putting a hand on his arm. “Do you want me to go get a description of the man with Celia’s lieutenant? He might be the tar Conduit,” she said, keeping her voice low.

Dad nodded absentmindedly, only glancing up to watch her leave before beginning to type away at his phone. Dr. Sims shifted to another computer and we all fell into silence for a bit as he worked until he said, “I’m not pulling up anything with the Purcell moniker. Maybe it went by another name? But we don’t even know what Purcell means.”

Zeke was scribbling on the notepad in his hands now, frowning. “Purcell,” he hummed, like he was testing out the word. “Ain’t that some sort of mountain?”

“It’s either a mountain range, or a composer,” Dad quipped, scrolling past the latter to click on a wikipedia link for the former. “‘The Purcell Mountains are a mountain range in southeastern British Columbia.’” He read off of the screen before looking up. “How the hell are we supposed to get to British Columbia?”

“Assuming it has anything to do with the area,” Dr. Sims added offhandedly.

“I might still have some contacts,” Aunt Sia returned, moving to stand beside Dr. Sims. She motioned for the note pad Zeke had and flipped to the next page, beginning to make her own notes. “I had a lot of different ways of getting Conduits into Canada—there has to be something I can still do.” She jotted down something before holding it out for Dad to take. “This is what Jean’s friend remembers of the lieutenant and the man with her.”

She silently held out her other hand and the two traded, Dad reading her notes as she began to search for a way into Canada via Maps instead. “Blonde…short build with a skirt…man with brown buzzed hair,” he huffed, looking up at Aunt Sia with a raised brow. “The woman was ‘surrounded by light?’”

Aunt Sia shrugged. “That’s what she said,” she defended. “That she seemed to be surrounded by some kind of shifting light source.”

Dad seemed to watch Sia’s face for a lie before sighing hard, holding the notepad out for Zeke to take back. “I don’t know these people,” he said. “They don’t ring a bell at least.”

Dr. Sims sighed. “I don’t have a lead on this Purcell place,” he said. “Which, on one hand, means the lab was never found and is probably where Celia is stationed. But we don’t have a direct location. If we continue with the assumption that ‘Purcell’ means this mountain range, it’s still a mountain range. That’s a wide area to search. If we make it up to Canada, I can deploy some angels, try to zero in on it based on activity—especially any kind of radio waves—but I’d need time to pinpoint—”

Dad groaned, letting his head fall back. “We don’t have time to search a whole mountain range. Those kids don’t have time.”

I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry; there it was again. Dad’s urgent insistence that we were running out of time, that Tommy and Reese were running out of time. They were in danger, that much I knew, but Dad was so sure that something horrible was going to happen. That spark of anxiety behind his eyes?

He was scared of them dying.

And that terrified me, because I knew the idea wasn’t above the realm of possibilities where Celia was involved.

I glanced back at my friends, the ones from my group remaining; Cat had cracked under her own worry and began to pace, Dom and Mei watching her footsteps with concern. Brent’s eyes met mine and he just barely raised his brows, asking for an answer I didn’t have. Was this what it felt like, to be Dad? To see all the people you cared about stressed and have no way to fix it? No answers, no ideas. No location to a place my best friend was dragged to and no idea if we could even get there. Sure, we had an idea, a concept of a possibility of an answer. A mountain range that, in the conversation Dad, Dr. Sims and Zeke were currently having, was 300 miles wide and nearly triple that in height. It would take forever to search the area, far longer than we had to spare. This wasn’t something we could solve with an address and Google Maps—hell, I couldn’t even do what Mei did and stalk a bitmoji on the prayer that I’d even be able to find her—

Wait.

My eyes widened and I broke away from Brent’s stare to fumble in my pocket for my phone, managing to drop it in the process. The crunch from my phone hitting gravel grabbed everyone’s attention and I suddenly felt a dozen eyes on me as Dad asked, “You alright?”

I didn’t respond, not yet; there was some terrible part of me that was terrified that this wouldn’t work. That somehow the time away had taken away from the life I knew had taken this too. Not to mention my last phone took a swim in the Sound.

But for once in my goddamn life, I was lucky; I signed into my phone’s account that turned it from a burner into mine, and with it came the influx of everything else that belonged to me. The missed calls, the plethora of voicemails. The previews to emails with accusations that felt like they stabbed me in my chest even as I swiped them away.

None of that mattered right now. Not when I could possibly help.

The gravel shifted beside me as Dad walked over to join me as I clicked through apps and opened the one I was looking for, cursing at how long it took to load in this area with terrible reception. I smacked the screen of the phone and it prompted Dad to ask again, “Jean, what are you doing?”

But just then, the location map of the Find My Phone app loaded, and oh, how I could’ve cried; every desperate search for my missing phone, every joking message I’d send to her when she was off doing something far from home, all led to a circular dot I centered in the screen, Reese’s last location pinged somewhere in Canada.

I held up my phone, screen facing outward. “Would you be able to figure out where she is with this?” I asked Dr. Sims.

He cocked his head. “What is that?”

Dad stepped forward, motioning for me to hand my phone over as he huffed—despite the stress of it all, he almost seemed amused. “Find My Phone, saving the day again,” he murmured as he turned around, walking to Dr. Sims’ side. “Last online yesterday. What’s the likelihood that that was her phone dying?”

Dr. Sims took my phone, holding it in one hand as his other reached out to the map on his mini-computer and using the touch screen to zoom in. “It looks like it’s here,” he said, motioning to the screen. “Eyebrow Peak, or around that area.”

Dad sighed. “So we’re definitely going to Canada,” he said, rubbing the overgrown stubble that had turned scruff on his jawline. “Alessia—”

“Already on it,” she said, motioning for Zeke to follow her. “Mind helping?”

“Sure,” Zeke said, pushing off of the side of his van. “Think I’ve got some old favors I could try calling in.”

They left as Dr. Sims muttered something to Dad, who nodded before turning to face me. “We’ll give you your phone back when we get what we need off of it, okay?” He asked me.

He looked so tired; I hadn’t realized his eyebags had gotten so dark until they were illuminated by the moonlight, nearly black, and with his unkempt beard and hair that had turned tangled with how many times he’s run his hands through it…he just looked haggard.

I recognized the dismissal. His statement had an unsaid ending, go somewhere until we’re done, an expectation to let them do what they needed to do. But between the way his shoulders sagged and the tension in my own, I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Instead I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him in a much-needed hug.

He froze—for someone who looked so run down, his lower back sure was stiff—but then his arm came around to hold me, hand rubbing across that spot in my back that was now becoming sore to the touch. There was a softness to the movement and the way he subsequently melted, like he too needed this small moment.

And for a blissful two minutes, we were given a reprieve.

At least until somewhere by the lake’s shoreline, Aunt Sia called, “Delsin! I think I have a way there!”

Dad sighed, patting my back—and as I looked up at him, he managed to give me a genuine—albeit tired—smile. “Let’s go get your friends back,” he murmured.

#I reused my fucking bit but who cares. I am finally past the transition chapter #infamous erosion #infamous second son #brent posting #jean posting #delsin rowe #eugene sims #Aunt Sia Posting #Zeke Dunbar #OCs are here and they get to meet for a bit before I throw them away again #thanks Reggie for giving me this stupid idea I couldn't stand doing anything else #I love you Gab <4

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rogueshadeaux · 6 months ago

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Chapter Forty-One - Love Me Normally

“Impossible choices,” Garrett hummed, still looking down at the tile. “A soldier faced with terrible orders, the only Conduit who could prevent genocide…” They looked up to meet my eyes, stare pointed as they said, “A parent, trying to cure their child.”

9.6 k Words | 40 min - 1 hr read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, unreality, experimentation, child neglect/endangerment, mind...control? poisoning, torture, canon typical violence, erosion typical violence. Angst. Reveals :D

⚠ AUTHOR'S NOTE: the second half of the Garrett chapters and my excitement grows stronger, as now, I get to move on, finally, to what I imagined Erosion to always be—and that's thanks to Garrett and their amazing creator, @neverdewitt. Yet again I have to give credit where credit is due and thank him for the amazing character and the chance to let his OC be the one to pull the wool from Jean's eyes, and force her to stare the beast that is the past in its broken, bloody pupils. Thanks for letting me have Garrett, and again, sorry babes for having you wait this fucking long, love. I adore you!

Also....thank you @inhumanghostlight for the permissions. :) I love you as well!

“Dad!” I called out into the night, the sound bouncing back from the waters and ringing in my ears. No. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him. I stood, rushing to the edge of the rooftop and trying to summon my water to help carry me down. Trying being the keyword.

But it never came.

And I couldn’t stop.

My feet skittered against the concrete of the rooftop, failing to find traction and instead making me slip, falling flat on my back and hitting my head against the hard floor. My legs flew past the edge and went further still, not giving me the grace of letting me get the stars out of my vision before the momentum dragged me off.

I shot out a hand and barely managed to grab the edge of the rooftop, slamming against the side as I held on for dear life. I choked, the hit knocking the wind out of me—but I couldn’t let go. I wasn’t enthused at the idea of plummeting 5 stories without my powers.

Hissing, I blinked back the tears from my pain, swinging my body to get my other hand to the ledge and try to pull myself up. But just as my hand came up, a black converse settled in the place I planned to grapple.

“Shit—“ I gasped; with nowhere to grab and no way to stop my momentum, I teetered hard, fingers on the hand that was holding me up beginning to slip. I wasn’t sure what Garrett was putting me through right now, but I knew I could feel. I knew pain was possible. And that drop was going to hurt a lot.

My fingers kept sliding, and I couldn’t find the advantage to get my other hand back up no matter how hard I tried. In fact, all thrashing around did was make me lose my grip further. I glanced up at whoever blocked me from grabbing the ledge with a scowl, blood freezing when I saw they were staring right back at me—and that wasn’t Garrett. Red pleated skirt, almost like the school uniform Linus Pauling used to make us wear before getting rid of the requirement. Ablazer, black hair pulled back into an immaculate bun and…a mask. A pure white, geometric mask of a rabbit.

I grunted, trying to keep a hold of the ledge as she just stared down at me. “Who—” I cut off, the weight of my entire body now on three fingers. “Who are you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, the words came with another breeze, their airy tone familiar. “Mother’s favorite child,” Garrett’s voice whispered in the back of my mind.

I didn’t have time to mull over the words—I felt the knuckles of my last three fingers sliding, and I choked out “Help me,” to the girl, who just stayed glaring down at me. “Help me!”

She didn’t. She watched the breeze take me, not even flinching when I screamed as I fell.

There’s this strange dilation that comes with freefalling; it felt like time both sped up and slowed down all at once. Everything became so concentrated until the blood pounding in my head roared in my ears like a seastorm, and all I could hear were the war drums of my own heart rate.

I should have known it was too loud to just be some internal beat.

The fall was far shorter than it should have been, and I wasn’t at all where I should have been; I didn’t meet the dock nor sidewalk, but concrete, slamming so hard into the epoxy coating on top that I half-expected it to crack under me. I writhed in pain as my spine lit up, taking a moment to blink through the tears and will oxygen back into my lungs as I registered that I was, once again, surrounded by concrete.

And that steady beeping became prolonged and harsh as it hit a crescendo, holding its last note.

I propped myself up on my elbows, looking around; this…I think it was Curdun? To be fair, I didn’t know enough about Curdun to safely say so—but the dark concrete on all four walls, the ceiling and floor suggested as much. But this wasn’t like that cell from before, not at all. Everything was too pristine.

I shifted to my stomach, trying to push myself up off the ground as the steady note stopped, some sort of doctor fiddling with a machine in the room. He was staring down at a body strapped to a metal table with disappointment on his face, like he was more inconvenienced that this person just died on his table instead of the horrifying fact that they just died on his table. I shakily got to my feet in time to see the doctor pull EKG pads off of the Conduit’s chest, his pale skin adorned with red blood oozing from every orifice in his face and dripping back into his stark white hair. He was riddled with holes and gaps, tubing being pulled from him one by one as the doctor scowled down at the patient.

The test subject.

I heard of testing done in Curdun Cay long before I knew Dad was Delsin. Everyone did. It was one of those blemishes the history teachers would breeze over in class and you’d have to learn after seeing a survivor’s interview on television or some post on social media. I learned about it from a Wikipedia rabbit hole when writing a report on Delsin Rowe’s tag art and importance of civilian empowerment. Before then, I hadn’t known more than them being locked up. Even then, it was something disconnected from reality, or it at least felt like it.

There was something different in seeing the doctor rip a catheter out of this man’s veins like it was nothing, meant nothing. Like deboning a chicken.

“Shame.” A voice behind me said, making me spin in place. Augustine stood mere inches away in her classic Director uniform, staring through me at the corpse in disappointment. “I had hoped it would work this time.”

Being in front of her, so close to her, felt unnerving; every fiber in my being was telling me to attack first or suffer the consequences, and I would have had water already surrounding my hands if that was even a viable option here in…whatever this mental charade was. But she didn’t acknowledge how I bristled in place, how I backed up until I leaned against the same table the corpse was on—she acted like I wasn’t there. I guess, in some way, I wasn’t. If this was a memory, I was a spectre—like I was Ebenezer Scrooge and this was my fucked up A Christmas Carol.

It didn’t keep me from scooting sideways and away from her glare, though.

As I did, I realized Augustine wasn’t alone; just off to her right and three steps behind her, Garrett stood, just a year or two older than the last memory with them in it. Their hair was longer and the ends were colored in pink that stank of permanent marker, the closest they could get to a salon. They only glanced at the corpse before screwing their eyes shut and looking away, turning their head my way as their free hands clenched into fists at their sides.

The one closest to me, though, reminded me of Mei; short black hair cropped just before it could touch the shoulder, high cheekbones that made her monolid eyes defined and deep. She looked down at the body of the young man with her head cocked to the side, face curious. Her hands were free as well and constantly moving, playing with her fingers as she stared on.

“Initial signs were promising,” the doctor said, looking at Augustine. She was nearly 6 inches taller than him and seemed even more so, with the way he withered under her critical gaze as he delivered the news. “The device was implanted successfully, and initially was suppressing the subject's powers within expected parameters—however, prolonged exposure to the inhibitor was deleterious to the Conduit’s condition. The body began to experience threatened homeostasis, which made its HPA axis respond. Lack of power expression makes the Conduit gene continue trying to develop rayacitin, which in turn is prohibited by the device. The extreme stress caused hemorrhaging and cardiac arrest in this subject, which—with our direction to not intervene to see the device’s effects on the Conduit’s physiology…”

The doctor motioned uselessly at the dead body, like that was enough to excuse killing someone in the name of science.

Augustine looked displeased. “That’s unfortunate. I trust I don’t have to stress to you how much is riding on the results of these trials, correct?” She asked the doctor, eyebrow raising on an otherwise cold face.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, Director, I’m aware—but I need you to grasp the gravity of the situation: attempting to ‘switch off’ the Conduit’s powers is like playing with the delicate balance of their entire body. It's not just about controlling abilities; there's a real risk of their entire body breaking down. No Conduit can survive long-term with this device even if we adjust the model’s RFI abilities.”

“She knew the risks then. Before.” Garrett hummed in their youthful body, standing still behind Augustine with their hands still clenched into fists as their eyes raised to meet mine. “There was no real way to disable a Conduit’s abilities without pain.”

“Without results, I'll lose everything I've built here.” Augustine hissed. “There’s too much pressure from above to find a long-term solution to Conduits. I lose funding and the government takes over, all because you can't do what I need you to.”

Solution to Conduits?

“I know,” The doctor promised. “But Dr. Wolfe’s preliminary notes are rudimentary at best. We’re having to build more on his assumption that a Conduit’s power can be controlled via manipulation to the corpus callosum, but this is a science we simply don’t have access to. There’s no possible way to exploit the channel without having severe effects on the subject.”

Augustine took a step forward. “I didn’t ask about impossibility. I am not scrubbing DUP files and handing you Conduits just for you to tell me you cannot commit to the challenge, Bennet. This implant is the only reason we haven’t heard calls from the defense branch to defund Curdun Cay. Without results, we’ll lose everything we have here and these Conduits will be left in the hands of the military.”

“She was trying to figure out a way to get rid of Conduits?” I asked, looking over at Garrett. RFI abilities in an implant? It sounded like she was trying to cure them of their abilities, or whatever she considered curing.

They sighed. “She was trying to find a way to make Conduits safe enough for other humans’ comfort. To find them a freedom the government wasn’t willing to hand over loosely. But,” Garrett drew off, stepping out of place in formation behind Augustine and turning to another table on the opposite wall. They walked across the floor and hopped up to sit on the metal, crossing their ankles. “Mother had another motivation.”

The room got brighter, the sudden shine making my head throb yet again, and I cringed, screwing my eyes shut. Was that all outside stimulus making my head hurt, or was that Garrett playing with my brain matter?

Guess it really didn’t matter either way.

What did matter is by the time the pain subsided and I could open my eyes without cringing, the entire room had changed save for Garrett; the girl with black hair was gone, the guy with white hair no longer laid out on the other table and the doctor, Bennet, no longer hanging over him. Garrett was a little bigger now, hair just past their shoulders and tucked behind their ears as they stared blankly at the floor, face a controlled, blank canvas. There was a new doctor at the end of the table, conversing with a much-less stoic Augustine.

“—trace aggregated forms of alpha-synuclein. It’s practically unheard of in someone of Jorrer’s age, but with the family’s history of degenerative brain diseases, there’s cause for concern—”

“If it’s not common in their age, then what is causing the issue?” Augustine said tersely, the last few words punctuated at each syllable. Her hand was on Garrett’s knee, shoulders back and tense, and I swear for a moment I caught a flash of Dad in the same position just an hour ago. A parent trying hard to keep it together as they heard something devastating regarding their child’s health.

The doctor swallowed thickly, nervously stumbling, “We need to consider the possibility that Jorrer’s abilities are having an adverse effect on their cognitive function. We’ve yet to figure out how they drain for their consciousness powers. There’s a chance it’s…taking from their own synapses.”

I couldn’t believe it. “The implant was…was to help you?”

“Impossible choices,” Garrett hummed, still looking down at the tile. “A soldier faced with terrible orders, the only Conduit who could prevent genocide…”

They looked up to meet my eyes, stare pointed as they said, “A parent, trying to cure their child.”

I did not like the comparison there.

Garrett let me stew in the symmetry between our stories, continuing, “At some point, like all well-timed coincidences, the lines between the two blurred. The truth is, Jeanie—in a world like this, there are no heroes and villains. There never will be. Just impossible choices, and their effects.”

Garrett broke eye contact to instead look at Augustine, a strange sort of forlorn bleeding into their irises. “Her attempt to muzzle me was out of mercy as much as it was fear.” They said, and something in the corner of my eye moved. I spun around as screaming rang in the room, turning to see Augustine’s face go slack as Garrett glared at her, their gazes meeting. Blood began to trickle out of her nose as Garrett moves like they’re trying to sit up, one half of their head shaven and spliced, still bloody from the staples holding the skin together.

“Turn it on, turn the damned thing on and cover their eyes!” The doctor, Bennet, screamed, ripping off his facemask.

“Although, I think in my case, one fed into the other,” Garrett’s voice rang in my head as Augustine’s snapped back, a nurse using a face mask as an impromptu blindfold on Garrett. Augustine fell with the movement, dazed, collapsing on the ground before beginning to convulse as a seizure took hold of her. “The implant was insurance as well as treatment…but you heard the doctor. The hypothetical Wolfe explored in the past wasn’t a long-term solution.”

There was a scuffle behind me and I turned, instinctively raising my hands and waiting for the water that never came. Not that it mattered—the people there didn’t see me. “I don’t understand,” Augustine growled. Garrett was sitting slouched on the table, power cuffs on—and a black blindfold over their eyes. The metal of their cuffs chimed slightly with every small kick of their leg as they sat. “What do you mean the implant is failing?”

Bennet scowled, showing Augustine the screen of his small laptop. “It seems their powers go beyond mental. The device is showing degradation akin to someone who’s had an implant for decades. Attachment to the Substantia Nigra is nearly severed. With this sort of damage, it explains why the minuscule access they had to their powers has been augmented.”

“Augmented is an understatement,” Augustine hissed, “They managed to get three guards to kill each other.”

“The first time my mother tried to restrain me didn’t last,” Garrett uttered, head still hung. “Halfway through the second year, I’d managed to fix what she tried to break. I had nearly freed myself. Though…” Garrett trailed off, inhaling deep, “Not without paying a price.”

“The implant’s degradation may also be causing their worsening condition,” Bennet added. “Disruption of dopaminergic modulation is known to cause an increase in symptoms like theirs—the tremors, the seizures. Director, I’m advising immediate removal. We need to perform a thorough examination to figure out when exactly it stopped suppressing their powers, and why.”

Augustine looked displeased—and yet a hand reached out to run through Garrett’s hair. “Their disease worsens the more they use their power,” Augustine pointed out, sounding tense. Worried.

Bennet rolled his eyes as Augustine looked at Garrett, but tried to appear sympathetic when she glanced back up. “I’m aware.” He said. “But they’ll get worse if it stays in.”

“Impossible choices.” Garrett hummed yet again. Augustine’s hand left their hair and hovered by their blindfold for a moment before falling to her side. “Her attempt at mercy did nothing but make me worse. In some strange way, I like to imagine she carried guilt over her actions. That perhaps this was her sign that it wasn’t to be. That meddling with nature like this would cause more harm than good.”

Garrett’s head rose and turned towards me, seemingly able to see me through the blindfold. “She didn’t listen. Especially when the universe gave her the perfect opportunity.”

There was a loud and terrible grinding noise and fissures began to spread in the wall to my left, rocks clattering to the ground as the crevice extended, chipping away at the walls of Curdun Cay to reveal a hidden gem; the sight of Mount Rainier and the Seattle skyline outside of the clerestory window was just on the other side of a glass wall meeting room, the sort of ones that were in fancy office buildings where passerby could peek in as people gestured to the projector's images without disturbing the meeting. The concrete wall continued to collapse until there was a space large enough for me to climb through, and I glanced back to see if Garrett wanted me to go on when I realized I was alone in the room now.

Well. There really was nowhere else to go.

I moved over the concrete on the floor and up to the hole, ducking and stepping through the proverbial looking glass to whatever waited for me on the other side. The standstill of the office seemed to switch on from its frozen point; rain began to patter against the window to the meeting room, blurring the blue bruised sky of the settling nightfall.

I stepped into the office and the motion sensor lights immediately flickered on, the bright buzzing from the fluorescent lighting searing my eyes. That’s all it needed to force the rest of the scene to change as everything in my mind pulled together, the pulsing of my throbbing head the worst one yet. God, it felt like something in there was going to burst. I audibly groaned, pressing my hands into my temples to try and counteract the migraine, pushing against the swell in my mind as I doubled over. My nose began to run, and nothing I did to sniff it back worked. It was only after the worst of the pain began to ebb away and I wiped it that I realized it was blood.

“We’re running out of time,” Garrett’s voice whispered in the back of my mind, making me shiver.

“—here in Seattle will ensure the DUP will be funded for the foreseeable future.” Augustine’s voice said. I rose from my place, looking around the room; the walls on either side, the same ones I could have sworn were empty seconds ago, were now covered in notes, print-outs and stickies and printer paper covered in sharpie all mapped out like a conspiracy theorists’ daydream, tied together with that same red string. Pictures, all things I knew. Some of things I had seen before; DUP memorandums, surveillance photos of people who definitely did not know the photographer was there. There was one that was more pink than anything else, Mom forming from the neon streaks to kick a drug dealer in the chest. The image shifted, warped around a bit with that shimmering magic of Garrett’s power until it was Mom in DUP pants and a white shirt, brown hair tied back as she positioned the same way over Garrett to try and strike them down. “This will allow me to expand our facilities abroad. We have made excellent headway on establishing a permanent science facility in Australia.” Augustine continued, her voice coming from somewhere behind me.

I tried to turn my head and found that…I couldn’t. I willed it to, tried to tense my muscles—but nothing happened. A bubble of panic rose in my chest as I heard the footfalls of Augustine’s steps behind me and yet my body wouldn’t fucking move. Everything about this suddenly made me feel like I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to do a thing as the monster approached and I was trapped in my body.

“The work we’ve already done there using Dr. Sebastian Wolfe’s notes on the Conduit are, well, awe inspiring. Even to me.” Augustine hummed into one hand as the other settled on my shoulder. Electricity shot up my spine that my body refused to heed, the flinch inside not translating to my stature as Augustine sighed, moving to stand beside me. She lowered her other hand from her mouth, pressing a small red button on the device in it before looking at the board. Half of me wanted to run, dash away from this memory or vision or whatever the hell it was Garrett was doing…but there was another half that was overpowering that one that felt content. Calmed by Augustine’s touch.

“With Delsin Rowe taken care of, and this newfound discovery, we have everything we need for restoring the DUP to its full power.” Augustine hummed.

Unassured. That’s how I felt, or some part of me did, at least. My mouth opened without my consent, the words forced through my throat not sounding like mine at all. “You’re sure he’s gone?”

That wasn’t Garrett’s voice, either. Whose head was I in?

“He fell with the rest of the island in Elliot Bay, and hasn’t been seen since.” Augustine said reassuringly. “He’s no longer going to be a thorn in our side.”

My head lowered, the feeling registering two seconds after the movement was already happening for me, like my brain was rushing to catch up to whatever my body was doing. Those hands crossed at my abdomen weren’t mine. This body wasn’t mine.

But it was hard to repress everything I felt when I was in it. Every sensation, every thought. I was slowly losing me the longer I marinated in this person’s mind, and it became we with a stipulation that I was in the passenger’s seat, nothing more than a witness.

“Dr. Mathis has been able to confirm the status of the Conduit.” Augustine continued. Her hand came up to play with the hair of whatever body I was trapped in, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. “The ability to negate another’s powers’ effects. Merely being around a Conduit is enough to weaken their influence.”

My head raised as Augustine’s hand fell, a conscious effort going into correcting the posture of the body I was trapped in. “What are his attacks like?”

Augustine inhaled deeply. “Seems there are none. No physical ones, at least. His power extends to his being, and what he can touch. Nothing more.”

That doesn’t mean much of anything, I found myself thinking. Unsure whose thought it was as we melted into one. We didn’t voice that, though. “That’s a strong ability…” we drew off instead, leaving the end free floating and loose. Allowing Augustine to fill in the space, choose the narrative—as she always did.

She agreed, at least. “Which is why I’m giving approval for the detainee to be sent to our research facility in Purcell. If we can find a way to harness that ability? The DUP would never fall. We’d be a necessity for every government in the world to control their Conduit populations.”

Control. How we hated that word. “But the Conduit has no attacks—”

“Yet.” Augustine stressed. Her voice was sure enough to force us to look at her; she looked tired, a slice in her eyebrow healing steadily as we met her eyes. “I authorized compatibility testing to find a viable source to channel his power.”

Giving the Conduit attacks. Two powers. Not many were lucky enough to be given such a generous gift. “And if they find one?” We asked, looking up at Augustine. “What then?”

“Then the world knows nothing about this Conduit, and only sees results.” Augustine’s tone was set. Serious. Unwavering. “With no knowledge of how, they’ll be forced to accept our why. Why they need us, why the DUP cannot be unfunded.”

“You plan on using the ability on other Conduits.”

We weren’t asking. We were sure.

Augustine sighed. “It’s a necessity—”

Liar.

“A human would allow a wild animal into its home if it were defanged—”

Traitor.

“And it would be a stepping stone to ensure our kind’s safety.”

Our silence. Our extinction. They’d never be satisfied.

Our face stayed stoic as the angry thoughts rampaged through our head, screaming about how this was less fighting back and more complacency. Giving up our rights, our beings, to placate people who meant nothing. And eventually, those thoughts spilled over, and we spoke out of turn. “We’ve seen how dangerous suppressing a Conduit’s powers is. How can you be sure it wouldn’t lead to more instances like Jorrer?”

Augustine immediately bristled. “Do not mention them,” she hissed through gritted teeth. She never liked when anyone brought up her failures, and this was the brightest splashing of red in her ledger by far because of how deep the shortcomings ran.

We hung our head, staring down at our black and white shoes. Properly acted remorseful. “I’m sorry,” our lips uttered, holding the apology in the air like an offering. Waiting for her to take it.

Augustine’s exhale was shaky. “If this Conduit is able to give us a way to deactivate others without adverse side effects, then Garrett will be free from their burdens. So many others will be, too. This is vital to regaining control of the narrative. Giving the government proof that we have such capability now will buy us time.”

It would do more than that. It would lay down expectancies. Conduits would have to be disconnected from their abilities to gain a semblance of rights. To exist beyond four walls made of double-paned and bulletproof glass. There would be nothing beyond the announcement but the choice of imprisonment or inactivity, forced to mold into the ideal person, human, in order to earn the right to be alive. A right snuffed out. A gift thrown away.

“If we can find a physical element to match the ability,” Augustine continued, taking our seething silence as a cue to add to the conversation, “Garrett’s implant may hold merit. The aura of this Conduit is enough to mitigate abilities. Perhaps storing a piece of him in every Conduit would be enough to weaken their abilities.”

Every Conduit.

And we wouldn’t be spared.

Every second that passed without a response forced more tension into the room, against the dewy glass and the pinboard until something else, something louder, sliced through it: sirens. APC sirens that echoed loudly through the silence of curfewed Seattle, dozens of them. Augustine’s head snapped towards the foggy window as the siren sang its song, drawing her away from the conversation.

She wasn’t even three steps away before new footfalls echoed; the heavy stomps of boots. That familiar sound that would be followed by cuffs and commands and constraints. “Director,” The voice greeted. Augustine spun around to look at the DUP Soldier. “Rowe’s been spotted. He’s making his way through the north island and was last seen in Paramount.”

“What?” Augustine hissed. We turned to look at her, and caught the end of the glare she threw around the room before facing the soldier fully. “It’s been hours since he was last seen. That’s impossible.”

“We think he’s following Daughtry to the Marina,” the soldier continued.

Augustine inhaled deeply, clenching her fists. “Alright. Thank you,” she eventually growled, anything but thankful.

The soldier nodded and left, Augustine moving to the meeting table and leaning her palms against its flat surface, hanging her head. Her shoulders sagged, then tensed, and then she straightened, turning slowly to look at us. “I want you to track Rowe. See where he goes, what he does.”

“Do you want me to engage with him?” We asked, head tilting slightly.

“No.” Augustine interrupted before the sentence was fully out of our mouth. “Rowe is still a danger, and I don’t want to put you in his crosshairs.” She fixed the buttons on her jacket, trying to force her hands to still before looking back up at us, face softening.

Taking a step forward, her hand left her jacket to settle on our shoulder, squeezing it gently. A rush of discomfort blossomed from the touch as our mind ran a million miles a minute. “I need you to stay safe,” she reassured us. “We both know Rowe’s capabilities, but with his fury, he’ll also be a danger. After what happened in Elliott Bay, he’ll be on the warpath for revenge.”

She released us and stepped away towards the door, and we watched her with narrowing eyes. “Wh–where are you going?” We asked.

Augustine stopped in the doorframe, gripping it. “To prepare. He’s going to want a confrontation. I’m going to give it to him.”

That managed to calm the storm in our mind, everything sputtering to a stop. “What?” We balked. “You’re going to give him the chance to defeat you?”

Something flashed behind Augustine’s stare, and her jaw set. “You assume I’m going to lose to him,” She fumed, turning around to face us fully. “Rowe is a danger, but with this new Conduit? He could be an asset. We both understand what hangs in the balance if he’s allowed to continue.”

“You’ve seen what he can do,” We interjected, taking a step forward. Trying to be insistent towards that piece of her we hoped was still there, if it ever was more than an act. “If he overpowers you—”

“He’s strong in the abilities he’s gained,” Augustine agreed. “He’s not strong in mine.”

She must be joking. “You’re going to let him take your power?”

“You said yourself he’s incompetent as a Conduit with a new ability.” She stressed. “You’ve watched him fight for the most basic abilities. He’s unnatural in his source, and it’s that weakness that we need to exploit. If we can corner him, and use this other Conduit’s ability to control him further, we’d accomplish our mission. We need to create the perfect chance to capture him, he’s too dangerous to keep free.”

The way her shoulders squared, her face steeled, told us all we needed to know; she wasn’t going to change her mind. She was going to structure the ideal confrontation with Rowe, and try to take control of the situation once more. She could sense our hesitation, and added, “Follow him to me. Let me tire him with a fight, let him take my power, and be there as my lieutenant. Help me ensure we will accomplish this.”

We searched her face for a crack, a waver in the idea she’d already constructed in her mind—but she was too far gone. All we could do is nod and watch her rush off without farewells, knowing in our heart it would be the last time we saw her.

We had come to that crossroad the moment Rowe made himself known—and with this new risk, the threat of permanent impairment to placate the masses that would prefer our death, there was too much to lose. We could not idly wait for freedom. We could not win by painting ourselves the villain and inspiring distance. A road continued here would lead to our demise.

We couldn’t follow this path. Not anymore.

Opening an extension. Surpassing the log in requirements to access the DUP’s internal site. Typing in case file codes perfectly and setting their PDFs to download. Waiting until things were transferred to pull out the USB and pocket it, zipping the secrets against our hip like a loaded revolver to use against whatever forces chased for us after Augustine’s inevitable demise.

And just as she did, we turned and left the meeting room, leaving unspoken goodbyes hidden among the conspiracies.

Every step down the hall echoed back softly on our well-trained light heels, the electricity to the building short-circuiting and plunging the hall into darkness. Thunder rumbled outside, the lightning that followed it illuminating the grout between the tile until it mimicked her concrete, the pores staring back like dozens of judgmental eyes as we abandoned her.

But she was looking for compromise while we needed freedom. And we would only find that by force.

Lightning struck again, the flash illuminating differences in our surroundings; the flooring was now vinyl, lined with a dark baseboard that snaked along with our steps, the hems of our blue scrubs almost black in the darkness. The walls looked different, less bright, and the whispers in the rumbling thunder seemed to grow until they had audible syllables. The sirens of the APC sang in beats until their siren song sank into staccato, the bass rising into even beats that trailed behind every one of our steps.

Lightning never strikes the same place again. A myth proven by centuries of steeples turned to ash and pyres made from the remains of home. It strikes, relentlessly, leaving markings like blooming scars in its wake. But do the bolts truly strike the same spot twice, if those very atoms are irrevocably changed by their first meeting?

Perhaps it was their first interaction with us all those years ago that caused our disillusionment. It felt fitting to come say goodbye.

The last flash of lightning stayed, the brightness temporarily blinding us as it stayed in the hall, shocking the rest of our surroundings to life as we walked down the melancholic halls. Past the nurses station, past the pictures up of patients and their nurses, praises of their care plastered against the hospital walls. The sterile smell of disinfectant and latex-free gloves made our skin itch, and the beeping of monitors was enough to make us want to rip out our cochlea as we briskly walked down the hall to their room.

The sign on the door got a precursory glance, a warning we were all too used to—don’t peer into Medusa’s gaze or you’ll meet a fate worse than being turned to stone. We glanced back to ensure our lonesome before opening the door and slipping through it, ensuring it latched silently behind us.

We didn’t raise our eyes—we learned our lesson last time, when the Dream Eater forced us to confront them on a stage they had power in. Our eyes stayed pointed down, hands rising into our vision as the edges of our palms vibrated, like the epidermis itself was trying to separate from the rest of our skeleton. And in a way, it did; our pale skin got paler, shreddings of it shaking off in large layers and fluttering around our wrists like birds dancing in murmuration before coming to conjoin where we directed, folding against each other into a masterpiece. Sharp corners and pristine edges that bent into cheekbones and tall ears, the mask a welcome sight after years of the persona hiding in its burrow.

But there was no need to hide anymore, now that our plan was finally coming to fruition.

We fixed the mask to our face before lifting our head to see Dream Eater resting in their bed, face blanked and empty as they stared off towards the window. Was this truly what they amounted to, in the end of it all? A shadow of everything they could have been, something barely even remarkable now?

A shame. Baku would have made a formidable partner, if fate had written our stories differently.

But they were a victim to Purotekutā and the lengths she would go to sell a thousand souls for her own goals, molding others into the cobblestone beneath her feet in order to take another step towards what she wanted. Forcing everyone but herself to sacrifice.

We moved closer, footsteps calling back in echo despite how lightly we tread. They made no move to flinch, to even look in our direction, but ever so slightly their brow twitched, drawing closer as we paused next to their bedside. A part of them, possibly deep within their core, knew of our presence.

“Hello, Baku,” We greeted. They’d grown to look more like her in their age—lines of stress cracking across their face like it had in Purotekutā’s hardened façade, their hair showed proof of relation now that they couldn’t dye it in protest of being the apple that did not fall far from the tree. We found our place in the chair at their bedside. “It’s been a long time.”

We paused for a moment, searching Baku’s face for some kind of recognition, proof that they were still there, in some way. We didn’t receive it from their direct recognition, but by their brow twitching, the slight acknowledgement that they were processing something. Did they do the same studious glare she did, when they were still cognitive? Did their brow come together just enough to make an Eiffel Tower-shaped wrinkle reach up from the bottom of their forehead to the heavens?

“I always wondered what became of you, in the end. For a while, I had watched before giving you the privacy you deserved,” We admitted to them, watching as their hand flexed and unflexed, like they were testing that they still had control over the appendage. We had seen them in those fleeting moments of mollified life between the point where her reign ended and the disease’s reign began, where the remains of everything before forced Garrett to grapple with the person they’d become, and the memories of who they were. Truthfully, there was no moment of peace for any of us, even long after the dust settled. “We all had things we were healing from—scars that were still rough and raw.”

We looked around the hospital room, adding, “Though, in your case, I suppose they’re still gaping.”

Our eyes scanned the room corner to corner, taking in the additions to the sterile white that made it feel liveable. Blush pinks and lush greens coming together to drown out the memories this smell brought them. Us. Anyone who had grabbed Purotekutā’s interest.

Purotekutā. “I envied you, you know.” We hummed soft, like we were sharing a secret that could damn us. “Long ago, when I was still an ignorant child. First it was simply because of your relation. Though, later, I learned how little any of that meant to her—she wasn’t looking for a progeny, she was looking for a companion, she was looking for a spear. For something that would help her achieve her goals.” Our tone became bitter and dark as we thought about every bit of falsity that made us hope that somewhere, we would find love. That helped us play right into Augustine’s hands as she manipulated that yearn for family.

We inhaled deeply, shaking our head. “You realized that far sooner than I did, and in my ignorance, I thought you were a fool. She called for you first, compared my actions to you. I truly thought you were throwing away your one chance to stand beside our mother and make her proud.”

Baku’s hand clenched into a fist at that, the white knuckles far paler than we’d ever seen before. They had become a shell of themself because of what Purotekutā did to them. A shame, truly.

Our hand snaked up from our lap, hovering over theirs for just a moment before taking it, trying to ignore how papery their skin felt against ours. “In a way, I have you to thank for showing me the truth,” we said sincerely, hoping they understood how deeply our thanks ran at their interference. Without the seed of doubt they had planted in us, we would have never blossomed into what we were now. “It was only because of you that I learned to take off those rose-colored glasses and see Purotekutā for who she really was—a coward. Bowing to the whims of the humans to placate them enough to allow us to live.”

We hesitated, the flash of a strong nose and harsh gaze entered our mind. Our favorite plaything. “Well, you…and Fukushū.”

Fukushū…our doubt was sewn deep by Baku’s warning, but it was Fukushū’s intervention that made that seed grow into more. Helped us realize life could not continue the way it had those seven years, if we ever hoped for more than morsels of understanding from those that weren’t like us.

We moved, laid another hand over Baku’s until we were cupping their hand gently, like perhaps one with mercy would a baby bird. “I realized, a long time ago, that Conduits will always somehow be at fault for a life they didn’t choose. We will never know peace, will always have to pay for the circumstances we were a product of so long as they have a say. The humans, those people that see us as pests to be exterminated.

“I had hoped that these past few years would show promise.” We said mournfully, the sadness in our voice tinged with anger as we thought of how volatile the world was against Conduits still, all these years later. “That the world would’ve let go of theater hatred and allowed us to live as we are. I hoped I was wrong in my fears and that I was just carrying the remains of Purotekutā’s anger with me, what she raised me with. But I’ve come to see that Purotekutā was right. Nothing’s going to change if left to the humans. Nothing that will actually benefit Conduits—and it’s time to stop relying on hopes. Dreams. Fallacies.”

Baku moved, shifted like they wanted to react, to say something that they couldn’t, being trapped in themselves as they were. A pang of pity shot through us and we gently patted their hand before releasing them, averting our sad gaze from their face and out of the window on the other side of the room—they would hate to have that pity concentrated on them, they always did. We instead moved to look at the sunset-illuminated skyline of this unfamiliar city from the windows, finding envy in the dozens of people below that simply meandered about their daily life like it was the easiest thing to do. Like there were not pressing issues at hand that needed their constant attention.

But the likelihood was that they didn’t care. That no one did. “We can’t keep waiting for the world to decide when we’re allowed to live,” we said, our voice low as we shared our sentiments with a sibling who couldn’t respond, gripping the windowsill in an effort to contain our rage. “We cannot keep letting them decide how we’re allowed to live. Badges and borders and branding the entirety of our kind for a sin they didn’t commit, forcing them to carry the blame for a single man.”

Our gaze fell from the busy streets to the windowsill, to the various succulents and knickknacks that cluttered the space in an effort to cover up the sterile simplicity of being victim to fates worse than death. We reached out, gingerly taking the well-loved and very worn toy fox from its place, holding it gently in our hands. “I don’t think any of us will escape this world blameless,” we hummed, thumb running over the orb of the fox’s black eye to clear the fur from its sight. Baku had come to Curdun with this same toy, a token from a life far easier than what they lived now, inherited in some way by the parents that had raised them. “A life is made of wrongs we inherit, and the humans seem intent on bestowing these wrongs to us the moment we show we’re not like them. Maybe Purotekutā was right about one thing—the world needs someone to blame.”

Purotekutā had made herself infamous to the world in an effort to be the shield they bashed their swords against in anger. The point of contention to everyone, a dam to keep from either side spilling over too high for her own liking. But that stronghold came with a price—the cost of our people’s rights, their freedom. Baku was proof of everything she was willing to give up for that aforementioned peace. “I’ve spent the last eighteen years hoping things would change,” we told Baku, carefully replacing the fox in the corner of the windowsill, angling it so its back was basking in the warm sun as we scowled. Eighteen years. Eighteen spent hoping for a fate better than what Purotekutā saw for us, if Conduits were left without someone to intervene. Eighteen years spent preparing, holding our breath with our forefinger on a trigger, waiting to see if we needed to pull it.

And unfortunately, between the world’s strife and our own, there was no longer a chance to wait. “But time has run out, and so has my patience.” The world had waited too long, and so had we—we had no choice but to move forward now, to put our plans into motion. Years of careful planning and deliberate secrets all amounted to the loaded gun now in our hands, and it was time to pull the trigger. “I’ll become that person for the world to blame, but I can’t stand by and watch our people suffer.”

We turned to face them fully—they hadn’t shifted much in the time we were away from their bedside, but there was effort to how they were positioned now, like some part of them was yearning to connect in a way that was impossible for them now. We crossed to their bedside once more, grabbing both their hands in ours, surprised by the death grip Baku held us in. Despite it all, they were still a fighter, even as weakened and fragile as they were now. We gave them a squeeze back in the same manner, promise in the grip as two victims, two siblings, connected in a final goodbye. “Once the dominoes begin to fall, it will be too late to stop,” we told them. “In some way, the world will not be going back to how it was. I refuse to allow it to. It’s time we take what we deserve, and show the world it cannot keep pushing us aside. We are the product of eons of evolution, and cannot be ignored any longer.”

Something on our side buzzed, and we released one of Baku’s hands to reach into the pocket of the scrub set we’d put on to sneak in here undetected, pulling out our phone. Right on time; the clock was closely approaching five in the afternoon on the other side of the country, and progress on our plan was due.

‘Now we wait’ the message said, in full lowercase. An image followed soon after, a picture of the back of a gutted out van with a picture of her.

Of me.

The one way we were sure it would draw him out, so the rest of our plan could begin.

Holy fuck, that’s me. Back in Portland! When those Russians tried kidnapping me!

Fukushū would stop at nothing to protect those he cared for, we learned as much before.

That’s me.

“I’m not sure if I believe in any sort of god,” we—they—said, the voice sounding far away now. “But I hope, if there is one, that they can forgive me for what I must do.”

That’s me, that’s me, that’s me.

This wasn’t me.

Something in the illusion I was trapped in became harsh, my vision dilating and constricting as the edges became fuzzy like I was no longer recalling a memory, but a dream. “We’re out of time,” a voice realized in the back of my head, and I wasn’t sure if it was Garrett’s or mine or whoever’s body I was in. The hand holding the phone lowered the device down on the bed, its movement stuttered with the most confusing motion trail that made one hand look like thirty. It hesitated for a moment before raising to place itself close enough to our—their, my, whoever’s—eyes to pull down the mask and set it aside before reaching out to Ba–Garrett, gently cusping their chin.

And the person lifted Garrett’s head to meet their eyes.

I wasn’t prepared for the situation to burn as everything rippled like a mirage, or the gross slimy feeling after as the perspective became wholly my own and I was freed from whatever mind I was passenger to. I wasn’t ready for that pain in the back of my head that followed every change Garrett implemented to throb like my mind was going to explode, or for me to suddenly be the one with my back pinned to a bed, Garrett cupping my face. Something about the entire room shook, edges of the room glistening with that magic Garrett could wield as they dematerialized, turning into nothing but burning white and absolute void. The Dream Eater’s kingdom was collapsing.

They were the Garrett from before, when I first started this rabbit’s hole of a dreamscape—that green silky shirt, hair bright and pink and pulled back. “There’s no time,” Garrett said. They perched over me like a vulture, or maybe the Grim Reaper, eyes wide and wild and worried as they realized they couldn’t tell me more.

Or that, they shouldn’t have been able to. But it seemed they weren’t going to let that stop them.

They unceremoniously yanked my face closer, the entire room feeling like it was shaking now as it fell apart. Succulents that sat on the windowsill fell until they burst into glittering nothingness, overtaken by that blinding white as it all inched closer to the bed we were in. Their eyes bore into mine, that diamond blue glint in them multiplying until it felt like it was enveloping the part of my brain that didn’t burn, pushing in on it until everything began to flash.

Glimpses. Visions. It reminded me a lot of the flashes of everything I could do that hit when Dad accidentally sent the full power of the Core Relay through me, only far less organized and with none of my questions answered. The ruins of a bodega encased in ice, the New Marais air uncharacteristically chill for spring; A burn that felt like being cooked alive, and the soothing balm that spread from between the shoulderblades, staring up at a being far more godlike than anything we were taught. The back of a cell and an extended hand, whispered promises of greatness and righting wrongs.

A lifetime of flashes from the moment the Beast activated this person played in my mind; the coldness of Curdun, the training. Ruthlessly being pushed to the brink of everything she could do in order to train her to be that weapon Augustine needed. How she stalked Dad, from the moment he entered Seattle. Sleeping in hidden alcoves on the rooftops, trying to help those trapped by the DUP and threatened with being sent to Curdun. A hospital bedside, Aunt Sia bandaged and bruised; a dock just a quarter mile away, hearing his blood-curdling scream as he lost his grip on his brother. A corpse in DUP detainee orange, eyelids gently closed by her hand with a final goodbye and a promise made. That moment in the Sky 6 News tower where a different path was chosen, and Augustine was left to fight alone.

That’s where the story should have ended.

But it didn’t.

My mind burned, felt like it was being stretched and compressed and iced and kindled as everything Garrett wanted to show me was shoved into my frontal cortex at once. A personal thank you to Dad, left behind in a studio apartment that reeked of rotting flesh; the outcrops of Salmon Bay’s shoreline, a house that slowly became a home and an open window that stank of paint as the nursery was built.

A late and anxious night that bled into an early morning and the return to Seattle; a hospital room, hospital masks and pandemic preventatives, a perfectly obscured face that kept Dad and Mom none the wiser as she slipped into labor and delivery. A vial just like the one I nearly dropped at Garrett’s bedside and another of blood, one traded for the other. A large machine that pulsed with the power of a thousand reactors, and the all-enveloping feeling of a hand too small to fit in her own. The warehouse we rendezvous with kingpins, offering something better than drugs. Revenge. A man seeking her out for the same purpose. Glimpses of the sins she witnessed and the efforts it took to get to this point, years of planning that led to this precipice, all to the image of me in the back of a van.

She did this. The rabbit face-masked one, she did this. Everything! My kidnapping, Mom’s death, her illness.

That white around the room grew as I was suddenly shot back into my own consciousness, Garrett’s eyes meeting mine. I’m sure I looked feral in their grip, but their stare was steeled as they slowly nodded, like they were finally satisfied with me knowing everything I did. That white overtook their silhouette and my vision burned like I was staring at the sun, chest hollowing out in a gasping pain as it felt like I was kicked in the sternum, pushed out of wherever Garrett had me.

“Jean! Can you hear me?”

Unfortunately, I could.

Everything was too loud, too bright. My head throbbed so hard I was sure other people could see its pulsing and the first thing I did when I came to was gag before having to hold back a nice stream of bile. Someone yanked me back by my shoulders and I fell on my ass. I felt disgusting, lightheaded and somehow full of lead. I tried to speak, to tell someone, anyone, of what I just saw, but I couldn’t speak. Something between my brain and my mouth failed, like I was here and yet, once again, a passenger in my own mind. My vision was tinged pink and could barely focus on anything beyond it, and when I tried to wipe away, I saw my hands came back crimson. “God, that’s a lot of blood,” Dad muttered, his own hands going to wipe my eyes. He moved in front of me and crouched low, trying to force eye contact and holding me hard by the shoulders. “Jean, are you okay?”

“I covered their eyes!” Aunt Sia called from somewhere off to the side.

“What the hell just happened?” Brent demanded behind me.

Tell them what you saw, their voice still rang in the back of my mind. I flinched, feeling like they were permanently impressed in the centerfold of my brain and I would never be rid of their touch—especially as I moved despite how leaded I felt, heeding their command.

I let the directions guide me, thankful I didn’t have to put nearly as much thought into the movements as I usually would have as I laid my hand against the ground, water sluggishly crawling down my arm as I pressed my blood-stained palm to the white floor. The two mixed, droplets taking on the red until it lightened, the rinse draining away the blood and using it as ink. I could barely recall how to use my powers, and for a moment, the slick blood stayed a sad puddle before it started to shift, separating into lines.

The color drained in places, strengthened in others, building and bending into sharp lines and deep crevices until it took the form of that rabbit mask and I felt Dad’s grip on me tighten. “Jean,” he said, voice tense, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My head lifted, lolling slightly on my neck as I met Dad’s eyes. Something in me, the thing tugging deep on the puppet strings that were my muscles and made me move without input plastered a weak smile on my face, the blood from my eyes and nose dribbling into my gums. “Celia, Delsin. Don’t you wonder where she went after it all? Are you so dense in your age you don’t remember her? Find her. She has the key you seek, the person behind the curtain. Trust your friends, trust your children. There’s no time left to dawdle. We face the end.”

The words ripped through my throat without my permission, something in my mind squeezing as they were spoken, like my ability to speak was choked out of both my mouth and my cerebrum. The laugh that followed was sardonic and crude, the sort a villain gives up before they keeled over.

Which, I promptly did, as soon as the imprint of Garrett released my head, the sudden lack of a death grip on my mind making it spin. Lights got 80 times brighter, everything sorta shifted like it was a mirage atop water, and the floor rushed up to meet me as I blacked out.

Want more from Doot? Go read more about how he tortures Garrett in All's Well That Ends:

Follow the tumultuous life of Garrett Jorrer, a Curdun Cay enforcer, experiment victim...and child of Brooke Augustine

Told through memories of what was and wishes of what could have been, read through the out-of-order retelling of Garrett's experiences and how life led to this moment...and how it ends. Now with every Erosion chapter added!

I'd also like to take a moment to point you towards something a good friend of mine, @infamoussparks, made. You may remember her as the creator of Dr. Hutch from two chapters ago:

Dissipate

Dying is a heavy burden to carry but Fetch is doing her best to balance her fate while spending time with her new family. Acceptance is hard in the dead of night but it's also the best time to shine as bright as neon.

A tender moment from Fetch Walker as she grapples with the fate of her illness, and the small children she will never get to see grow old. It genuinely had me sobbing when I first read it. It's heart wrenchingly evil.

I love it.

#infamous second son #infamous erosion #brooke augustine #GARRETT POSTING #GAREBEAR MY LITTLE BABY #Celia Penderghast #is that how you spell it?#delsin rowe #terrible implications to why someone is in the fight posting #fanfiction #infamous #uh #I've been gone so long I forgot how to tag these things #anyways I seriously do adore Doot's writing and tried to play with my own perspective writing #it's not nearly as good but it's there and I had fun #it'll look familiar to Gab and yes. that's where I got the idea #also babe get outta here #jean posting #aunt sia posting #brent posting #zeke....posting? I can't remember if he's in this chapter. I'm not looking up.#last chapter in the reserves and then I'm starting with zero. Which is good! to start anew is to start refreshed. and I will do good #if you're still here reading this I'll buy you a bagel

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