#baby girl. honey. sweetheart. light of my life. Eugene's too apparently

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Five — Road to Sanctuary

“By the time I agreed to work with him, he was sure he was onto something bigger,” Zeke continued. “It was a whole conspiracy. Curdun Cay was impossible to find, but apparently he had a group of hackers that managed to break through once. Barely got into a database for experiments before the FBI were at their door.”

7k words | 23—30 min read time | TRIGGER WARNING: death mention, hallucination mention | CHAPTER THEME:

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A very large, very heartfelt thanks for @lobotomizedlemon for trusting me with Alessia Donovan. I've adored this OC since they made her, and I love her story and simply everything she made Sia into. To be able to make this story her home, to be able to claim this her canon and intertwine her route with my own story? Well, I can't think of a higher honor. Love you babe! And I hope you all love this character as much as I do.

I was surprised that the drive to Boston was faster than the one to New Marais. 

Everyone rotated in the gutted out van throughout the two day drive, trying to stay comfortable. Zeke no longer had an inflatable bed — and after hearing about some of his escapades while on the road, I was happy for it — but we ended up finding this large camping mattress thing that we shoved in the back, edge curling up against the back of the van. 

The East Coast was…not a good place. Definitely not one to try and drive through, at least. The closer to the Atlantic ocean we were, the worse everything got. 

Some areas were lucky enough to heal from the Beast. Washington, DC was never touched, and some cities like Roanoke and Charlotte in North Carolina found a way to build up from the rubble. It was a miracle New York City wasn’t toppled, but Philly wasn’t as fortunate. But there were other areas that were ghost towns. I was convinced Baltimore was a myth for the longest time as a kid like Atlantis or El Dorado — till Dad forced us to watch Hairspray: the Musical. It just wasn’t there anymore. The Smoky Mountains had a canyon carved through them that refused to grow any foliage, just dirt and rock and remains of getaway cabins that no one but vandals had bothered to touch in the last twenty-five years. 

Driving to Boston, though, was a challenge; there was no way to ride the coast all the way north, not anymore. We traveled up to Pittsburgh, then even further north to Albany. We couldn’t stick close to the coast here. Anything near the Atlantic was gone, either ghost town or slum or absorbed by the shore. That carnage stopped just under New York City, though, in the waters off of the shores of New Jersey — meaning once we passed the latitude that used to hold Empire City, we could finally travel East. 

It was the dead of night by the time we left Albany after getting a late dinner, Dad sleeping on my right while Brent was laying on my left. Zeke was driving as Dr. Sims worked on his laptop, the sound of phonk music leaking from the earbuds shoved into his ears. I was on my side, trying and failing to sleep as Brent shifted beside me again. And again. And again.

My eyes snapped open. “Dude, would you stop?” 

Brent groaned lightly. “I drank too much coffee at that breakfast joint,” 

I chuckled softly. “I warned you,”

“Shut up.” Brent’s chest heaved a bit with his sigh, and then he finally looked over at me. “This isn’t how I thought that ‘family road trip’ Dad always talked about would go.”

“I know,” I sighed. “Always thought it would be…better than this. After we graduated too, like he said.” 

Brent hummed, staying silent for a minute before saying, “School started three days ago. Mei was telling me about it.” 

God, I had forgotten entirely about school. How was I supposed to even care about it right now? “Think our online classes did too?” 

“They did,” Brent said. “Did you not get the email?” 

“I…” I drew off, feeling the phone burn a hole in the back pocket of my jeans. I barely looked at it since the day I was released from the hospital; I knew if I got on it, I’d break and check out more about the tsunami, and I couldn’t take the image of another flooded house or a funeral with my essence as the victim’s reaper. “I don’t really…use my phone much.” 

Brent looked at me for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” he said, sounding entirely unconvinced. “But yeah, school started Tuesday.”

“I don’t even think I could do any homework right now if you held me at gunpoint,” I admitted

Brent chuffed. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. It almost feels stupid compared to the monsters and Archangel and — fucking time travel. You ever just think about that for a bit?” He asked me, eyes alight. The caffeine was definitely talking. 

But he had a point. “Yeah,” I admitted. Whenever I wasn’t wallowing in some pathetic self pity like my issues mattered more than what I created, I couldn’t help but think about the wild fact that time travel existed. “How do you think he did it?” 

“Probably some overly complicated bullshit that doesn’t exist now,” Brent muttered, light from a lamppost crossing over his face. “Otherwise I feel like Dad would have known about it, ‘cause there’s no way Kessler would’ve been the only time traveler if it was still possible. Or, currently possible.” He huffed, that same look crawling on his face when he was solving a problem or had managed to crack the catcher’s signs on the plate. “Imagine if we could figure that shit out. The things we could do.”

I could think of a list of things I’d love to do if I knew how to time travel — stopping my tsunami being at the top. Brent, though, had different priorities, as after a moment he murmured, “I think I’d try to meet Mom, if I could. Maybe Uncle Brent, Reggie. Dad’s parents.” 

Mom. I forced myself to breathe deeply as my mind pulled forward images of the hallucination when I was dying or dead or whatever; her outfit made of opaque neon and the freckles on her face. The way her eyes shined like Brent’s. 

“Hey, can I…” I drew off; no one but Zeke knew about this and I never took the time to actually describe the hallucination. It felt like a fever dream in retrospect, and yet I needed someone, anyone else to know about it. That’s his mom too. And that’s my twin. I knew I could trust him with anything. “Can I tell you something? You can’t make fun of me,” 

Brent huffed, smiling crookedly. “No promises,” he teased. But when he glanced at me, examining my expression, the smirk fell. “What’s up?” 

I swallowed, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Dad was asleep before turning my head back, leaning in a bit. “I…I saw Mom,” 

Whatever Brent was expecting me to say, it wasn’t that. He blinked a few times in confusion before managing to work out a, “W-what?” 

I explained everything; the field I woke up in, me looking for him first before thinking I’d caught a glimpse of Dad. How I knew this wasn’t where I was before I fell but how I’d gotten there was fuzzy. The forest, the mine, the size of it all. 

And Mom. 

Seeing Mom standing in that drained pond littered with crystal growths. Her face, her words, her smile. I’d told Zeke about this before, sure — but reliving it with Brent was something else entirely. It was a relief to, for a moment, act like it happened and not something I needed to keep secret for fear of either seeming insane or instigating some sort of reaction out of Dad.

By the end, Brent was speechless, chewing so hard on the inside of his cheek I was sure he was going to gnaw a hole straight through it. “It felt so real, Brent,” I murmured, breathing shakily. Retelling every bit of the hallucination nearly made me cry, multiple times. 

Brent was staring at the little bit of mattress between us before he exhaled, looking back up to meet my eyes. “What do you think it was?” He asked solemnly. 

“When…when I talked to Zeke alone about the tar and Cole and all that, he said that it made Cole see stuff too.” I began. “Apparently breathing it in was enough to get the guy to trip — and it got in my blood. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was because of that.” 

He nodded, following my train of thought and adding, “Isn’t it normal for people to imagine dead relatives when they’re dying? They see them standing in the corner of the nursing home or something and think it’s time to leave. Maybe it was something like that?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Sad to think that that hallucination has been one of the best parts of the last two weeks.” 

“Right?” Brent scoffed. “Hasn’t even been a month since we were freaking out about exams.”

I couldn’t help but agree; those dreams of college and comic books seemed so small compared to everything else right now. “Things are so bad now,” I grumbled.

Brent shrugged. “I mean, it’s not all bad. We finally get to see Aunt Sia’s new place."

We hadn’t seen her since the charity gala in Seattle two years ago; between her regular work with COLE and all the added political stuff from the last two years, she’s been too busy to even visit. The New England chapter needed a lot more support than the West Coast, anyways. 

The closer we got to Boston, the more apparent it became how much this entire region was struggling. Boston looked overpopulated between the cars in the street and the homeless on the sidewalk, like it never truly figured out what to do with the refugees from the south before the population started growing again. Every bridge had a plethora of tents underneath it, every soup kitchen had a line a mile long behind it. Brent’s head stayed on a swivel the entire way through the city, and I couldn’t blame him; the buildings here just looked older in a breathtaking way, a testament to this area being one of the first to be settled in America. We both made sure to make jokes towards Dad about a sign pointing towards Rowes Wharf, and watched the skyline with pristine glass and steel buildings reflect back the sunrise as we approached the outskirts of town, turning down more one-way side streets. 

The van lurched forward a bit as Dad pushed on the breaks and parked on the side of the road. There was a row of townhomes nearly touching each other, the alley only small enough to hold trash cans and barely any wiggle room between them, hiding untouched white snow instead of the grayish sludge on the street.

“This is it,” Dr. Sims confirmed Dad’s unasked question. 

As we got out and began fishing for our bags that were stored along the edges of the mattress pad, there was a slamming door, a blur of red and black clothing with fishnets, and a sudden huff from Dr. Sims, who breathlessly laughed. “Hey, Squeaks,” he greeted. 

Aunt Sia was a small woman, but that never stopped her. She took to life like she was bigger than it all, and made it bend to her. That’s what I loved most about her; being able to see someone so small do so much inspired me a lot as someone nearly the same size. I wish I had that much confidence. She almost took down Dr. Sims with her hit, arms wrapped around his waist like she was going to pick him up and carry him back into the house. 

Aunt Sia pulled away, looking up at Dr. Sims with the same face you would an old friend. “I’m so happy to see you!” She chirped, messy bright red updo bouncing with the declaration. Her voice had that softness to it Disney would reserve for its cutest characters, the sorta squeaky tone that would let the main character know hey, I can trust this one. 

Which I guess is why Dr. Sims called her ‘Squeaks,’ though I’d never heard anyone call her that before. I didn’t even know they knew each other personally. 

Aunt Sia turned to Dad, smile going soft. “Delsin,” she gently said. Dad smiled back, and he moved in to give her a hug — and was promptly interrupted in his movement by a quick thwack to the side of the head. 

“Ow!” He complained, looking at Aunt Sia. “What was that for?” 

“Everything that’s happened, and you didn’t think to call me once?” she demanded, now scowling. This was the other side of her I loved; she was a no-nonsense woman. Many arguments between Brent and I when we were younger were quickly extinguished by her ability to see through our bullshit. “I’ve had to find out things from the news or Arthur or—”

“I know, I know,” Dad grumbled, rubbing the spot she hit. “You’ve already yelled at me about it.”

Aunt Sia scoffed. “And I’m going to keep yelling at you about not telling me a thing about my babies,”

At this, she glanced behind him, eyes settling on Brent and I and immediately growing in excitement. “Oh, look at you two!” She cooed, pushing past Dad, who stumbled back a step and rolled his eyes. 

She went to Brent first, regarding him fully. “God, you’ve gotten huge,” she murmured, pulling him into a hug and coming to the middle of his chest. Brent had a huge growth spurt in the time she was gone, and she didn’t look at all happy about the fact as she pulled away from him. “You can’t get any bigger, it makes me feel bad.”

Brent chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he jokingly promised. 

Her eyes traveled over his form to me, somehow getting even softer. “Jeanie,” she smiled, moving to hug me next. 

She was always gentle, in spite of how badass she was. The same woman throwing bricks over bridges at passing DUP convoys was also someone who would hug you softly, like she knew you needed it more than she did. It was weird being a little bit taller than her now, too, but other things never change — like how she still smelled like cinnamon. 

Aunt Sia pulled away and her hands went to cup my face, gray eyes examining me. I knew that look, I knew what she was doing, but it felt less judgmental coming from her. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered before lowering her hands and regarding the group, giving Zeke a nod of acknowledgement before declaring, “Well — who’s hungry?”

“You’ve made a lot of work for me, Delsin,” Aunt Sia chastised, plopping down a bamboo bin on top of all of the COLE paperwork on her round dining table. 

“I know,” he grumbled, unwrapping the bandaging around his arms. 

Brent and I were on the other side of the kitchen, chowing down on breakfast. God, I missed Aunt Sia’s cooking almost as much as I missed her.

Dad glanced over at us. “You act like you’ve never had a homemade meal before,” he jested. Mostly. He did look a little offended.

Brent, mouth full of at least three different types of food, spoke past it to say, “It’s different when it’s Aunt Sia’s food,” 

“Bean, not with your mouth full,” Aunt Sia laughed, smiling so hard the single dimple on her left cheek popped out. Brent turned beet — or maybe bean — red at the childhood nickname and muttered something about being a man that we all ignored.

Dr. Sims moved to finish undoing Dad’s bandaging for him as Aunt Sia and Zeke began pulling things out of the bin. Even more files, a few different flash drives, a couple chips that were probably dead drops. “I kept it all,” she said, looking up at the group. Her eyes seemed to immediately flit to Dr. Sims’ back, like she was talking to him specifically. “I don’t have a way to listen to any of the audio anymore—“ 

“I do,” Zeke said, reassuring her. “In my bag. I’ll go get it,”

“Good! Good, okay then. Delsin, I also still have some of the things from Seattle, too.” She added. 

Dad nodded, “From Project Sanctuary? Or the Conduit Rights League?”

Aunt Sia shrugged. “Both. I used my volunteer time at one to inform the other, so I suppose they go hand-in-hand.”

“Is that how you two met?” I asked suddenly. It was very obvious that they’d known each other from before — it was more a question of how before it was. “You knew Dad as…Delsin? Even back then?”

Aunt Sia looked at Dad — and then glanced at Dr. Sims before letting her eyes return to me. “I did, but it’s not how we met. Eugene introduced me.”

Brent blinked, swallowing away a mouthful of food before asking, “So you knew Dr. Sims then too? Did you all meet in Seattle?”

Dr. Sims chuffed, eyes far away like he was reliving some memory. “Oh, no. Alessia was my closest friend in high school, before everything,”

My eyes went wide, and I glanced between the two of them. “You’re kidding,” They’ve known each other since high school? Since my age? Maybe even earlier?

Aunt Sia put a hand on Dr. Sims’ shoulder, squeezing once. “We met on an old video game,” she informed us, laughing slightly. “Didn’t even know we went to the same school together until I…helped him out.”

“Hard to mistake a voice like hers,” Dr. Sims chuckled. 

“Right, ‘cause that’s what gave it away, not you playing on your computer during lunch.” Aunt Sia rolled her eyes. “But yes, I…I’ve known your father for a while. We did a bit of work together in Seattle.”

Dad was still unwinding his bandaging, saying through the bit in his teeth, “Alessia was the only way I could stay in touch with Eugene, after your mother died.” He let the bandage fall from his mouth as he peeled the brown away from his forearm. “Couldn’t reach out to him normally. Had to be careful.”

I nodded, looking down at the ground; Aunt Sia must have followed Dad out of Seattle when everything happened. It made sense, right? And I’m actually really glad he had some support during that time. Losing your fiancée, becoming a single father, having to go into witness protection — that sounded like hell. At least he had someone.

But still, it all just felt like another lie. 

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the negativity as I instead concentrated on Dad, who was beginning to peel the gauze off of his arms. “Do you need any help?” I offered, setting the plate on the counter behind me. I wanted to be helpful in some way, especially since I couldn’t do anything to prevent this injury in the first place. My dreams were plagued by the gaps that riddled Dad’s skin, only nightmares would paste them to my skin instead. And I wouldn’t be able to fast track the healing like he could.

Dad shook his head. “I’m hoping it’s done healing,” he said. “And if not I shouldn’t need much medicine.” And luckily for him, he was right; the skin on his arms was fully healed, save for some redness and flaking that he shooed away with a quick rub under the faucet, like it was nothing. 

I couldn’t help but look at him in jealousy as he moved to gather all his used bandages and throw them away, arms fresh and recovered. 

Zeke walked back into the room, that little device he used to listen to the other dead drops in his hands. “Here you are, Alessia,” he said, handing it to Aunt Sia, who immediately began trying to plug it into one of Dr. Sims’ computers. 

“So what are you guys hoping to figure out?” Aunt Sia asked as she flipped the USB port of the cord after it refused to plug in. 

Dad grabbed a blueberry pancake and shoved it in his mouth sans syrup, helpfully saying between chews: “Anything.”

Dr. Sims decided to clarify. “Zeke has a journal from Dr. Wolfe. The First Sons scientist, not the reporter. According to him, they had ice soldiers a lot like the ones that attacked Salmon Bay. And they swiped some hard drives from the underground base in New Marais that I’m trying to recover files on.”

Aunt Sia blinked. “You think…whoever this Archangel is, they’re tied to the First Sons somehow?” 

“Well, we’re hoping we’re wrong,” Dad said. He then looked over at Dr. Sims. “Have you gotten anywhere with the hard drives? And the journal?”

Dr. Sims didn’t answer immediately; he turned to one of the computers, opening some sort of program file and clicking away. “Hopefully it finished translating every page of the journal on our ride up here,” he muttered, clicking around some more. A mouse scroll, and he said, “Almost done, it’s on the last few pages.” 

“And the hard drives?” Zeke asked, moving to approve some pop up on Dr. Sims’ computer. 

Dr. Sims glanced at his hand disapprovingly when he touched the ‘enter’ button, taking a moment to respond, “I made pretty decent headway there, but I can’t guarantee we’ll get anything good from it. These drives are both futuristic and from the nineteen-nineties. It's old and yet unlike tech I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t help that the military wiped them. A triple pass of the entire storage space is hard to reverse.” 

Dad flinched at that, like something about the statement mattered more than if it was just some random joe that did the same. “So what’re the chances you’d be able to recover anything?” He asked. 

Dr. Sims sighed. “Right now? Slim.” Dad groaned and Dr. Sims held up a hand. “But, if I could get your support on this…I might have more luck.” 

Aunt Sia looked at the man curiously as he readjusted his glasses. “Isn’t that dangerous?” She asked, immediately concerned. I glanced over at Brent who looked just as confused, answering my unasked question with a shrug — what on Earth were they talking about?

“It is,” Dr. Sims said. “But with Delsin’s help, I should be fine.” 

Aunt Sia didn’t look convinced at all, but she sighed hard. “Okay. Do you need anything?” 

Dr. Sims shook his head. “Just Delsin.” 

Dad moved, taking a spot by Zeke as Aunt Sia stepped aside, arms crossed and with that worried scowl on her face. Dad’s hand came out and he pressed it against the screen, the press of his hand causing the screen to warp and bend as the home screen became lost to pixels that popped like static, crawling off of the screen with each crackle and onto Dad’s skin as he drained video. The screen flickered but didn’t go completely black like I had seen before, motors whirring to turn it back on like it was programmed specifically to fight against the drain. 

Dad moved his hand and nodded to Dr. Sims, who pressed his own palms against the main laptop of his hub and closed his eyes, brow furrowing. The screen grew brighter, the light encapsulating his hands as he glowed blue with it, and there was a flash that disoriented me. “Ah, fuck!” Brent exclaimed from somewhere. 

I blinked hard as sight slowly returned to my eyes, looking around; Dr. Sims wasn’t in the room anymore. Dad was still standing in the same spot, hands out as he kept a stream of pixelated blue between him and the computers. “Wh—” I cut off, looking around a bit just in case I missed Dr. Sims. “Where did…”

“Damn, so that’s what it looks like when he does that?” Zeke asked, looking at the screen. 

I looked around Dad at the computer screen, faltering when I saw it; it was blue like most of Dr. Sims’ video powers, but the screen warped and twisted on itself like an oil spill in a gas station parking lot, bending and churning and swirling. Dr. Sims was here, with files on his computer screen…and now he wasn’t, and the screen looked like something that could be stepped through. “Is…” I drew off, glancing at Aunt Sia, “Is Dr. Sims—”

She nodded, “In the computer, yep.”

Brent looked over at me wide eyed, balking. “He’s in the computer? Like a virus?”

Dad decided to speak this time, “He’s rebuilding the database from the inside out. And I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t run into an irreversible issue and dies, so if I could have some silence, that’d be great.”

Well, jeez, with a risk like that, he didn’t have to ask twice. 

We all stayed quiet as Dad held his hands towards the computer screen, brow furrowed in concentration. Aunt Sia seemed too nervous to not move around, succumbing to a pace that had her walking the five steps back and forth between the back door and the swinging door that led to her living room, combat boots threatening to carve a hole in the tile. 

The fans on the laptop whirred to life, kicking up like a helicopter trying to lift off, and Aunt Sia froze, turning to watch the screen. Brent and I did too; the ambient color shifting of the screen left, the entire thing vibrating from the center outwards. The edges of the screen got brighter, and Brent and I both made sure to look away this time, me turning around completely to face him while he hid his eyes in the crook of his elbow. The blast of energy that happened was so strong that I could feel the wave of warm air, my eyelids going pink with the flash as Dr. Sims reentered the room, huffing like he had just ran a marathon. 

Aunt Sia’s shoes hit the ground so hard the floor vibrated, and I turned in time to see her push Dad aside a bit and wrap an arm around Eugene’s shoulder, demanding, “Are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah, yeah,” He huffed out, forcing a deep breath. He looked behind himself at Dad, “I got somewhere. Didn’t manage to dig up a lot, but I got something. I just need to finish refining it.” 

Dad nodded as his hands fell to his side, relieved. “Good, okay. Hopefully there’ll be something worth it in there.” 

“We can look at this stuff in the meantime,” Zeke decided, moving to begin to pull stuff out of the bamboo bin Aunt Sia had brought out.

Aunt Sia began flipping through the files Zeke set near her, Dad moving to her side. “This is a lot more than I sent you guys,” he said. 

“We just needed you to do the dirtiest work for us,” Aunt Sia said with a hint of a tease to her voice, looking over her shoulder at Dad. 

Dad gave her a sarcastic smile, picking up a random manilla envelope from the pile to open. He was always so comfortable around Aunt Sia — I missed their cohesion over the years since she moved. “What all is in this? Do you remember?”

Aunt Sia trilled her lips. “Not a lot that wasn’t revealed in the UN trial,” she sighs, holding up various papers and flipping through them. “What Augustine subjected the Conduits to, natural RFE, the Ray Sphere. They were trying to figure out something about Conduits, but…we didn’t figure out what before Raymond Wolfe died. You went and tore down the DUP and so many files disappeared.”

Brent, food finally finished, decided he wanted to remind everyone he was in the room by saying, “So all the messed up things they did were erased?”

Dad held up a finger. “Hold on — the Ray Sphere?” he asked. 

Aunt Sia nodded. “You’ve gotta remember, whatever the First Sons were working on in New Marais? They got it. And that includes—” Aunt Sia cuts off, looking through the files in her hands and then two on the table before handing one to Dad. “—the Ray Sphere prototype.”

Dad took the file, thumbing through the pages as Brent and I did the worst job at trying to be discreet while looking over his shoulder. 

I could remember the Ray Sphere Zeke showed Brent and I, the mock up that was in that journal. The near perfect roundness, the little indent like the crater that held the scary secret weapon on the Death Star imprinted on its dome. This? This was nothing like it. It was a contraption held together by wire and hope, more pill-shaped than round and with two handles on each side as if to steer it. I wasn’t close enough to read the notes, but Dad seemed to find something that shocked him. “‘Unrefined raythium mined from the Earth’s core?’” he read aloud, looking to Aunt Sia for confirmation. 

Brent’s brow furrowed. “Raythium? Like the stuff in the Earth’s core?”

“By the core,” Dr. Sims corrected. “It’s what remains of Theia when it crashed into Earth eons ago.”

“It’s what causes the Ray Field too, right?” I asked, moving to sit at the table opposite the adults. I remembered that from my Earth Science exam two weeks ago; the radioactive remains of Theia were close enough to the core to be pulled into the whole process that made Earth’s electromagnetic field, the churning with the iron and stuff in the center making the Ray Field. 

Dr. Sims nodded, “And what Conduits use to convert energy into their conduvergence matter.”

“I still don’t get how that works,” I admitted with a mutter. 

Dad looked like he was working through some sort of math problem in his mind. “So the First Sons were…trying to use raythium to activate Conduits? Like MacGrath?”

“Not Cole,” Zeke chimed in, moving to lean against a wall. “He got the end product when they perfected it and started using rayacite instead. But the Blast cores Cole used to ‘power up?’ Those came from New Marais and Bertrand’s testing.”

“Wonder if that’s why Bertrand’s power was so messed up,” Dad hummed. “If he used raythium to activate his power, he basically nuked himself with radiation. Isn’t raythium really radioactive?”

Dr. Sims leaned back in the kitchen chair. “It is. If Earth’s geodynamo process was any different, and a fraction of the radioactive RFE in the core leaked out, there’d be no life on Earth.”

Brent and I glanced at each other, grimacing; that was a fun fact we could have lived without. 

“Let’s just…start with what we know,” Aunt Sia said, turning to her bin after an awkward pause and digging in it. Eventually she pulled out a small manilla folder with some sort of crinkly window on it, revealing a dead drop a lot like the ones Zeke kept in his way-less-organized ammo box. “Here, Angel, put this in.” 

She held it out and Dr. Sims took it from her, him taking long enough to play it for me to look up at Brent as he mouthed Angel? at me with a raised eyebrow. I guess they really did know each other. 

The speakers on the leftmost laptop crackled a bit, the computer’s motors picking up as the dead drop began to play. “Cole’s Gift: Short Lived or Just Beginning, by Raymond Wolfe.” The voice began, firm and lyrical like any other reporters’. “It’s common knowledge that when Cole MacGrath died he not only cured the plague that was sweeping the world, but took every Conduit with him to his grave. What we didn’t know was that this would be temporary. Within a year, rumors emerged of the return of the Conduit gene. Some believed that the plague had survived and mutated, this time creating Conduits rather than killing normals. Some believed that not all the Conduits were actually killed, that a few remained and were somehow able to spread their abilities.” 

I shook my head. That didn’t sound right—how do you spread a gene? Besides the obvious procreational way. 

“I’ve personally looked into both of these urban legends and have yet to find any proof of either of them.” Raymond Wolfe said, agreeing with me. “Which is why I’m here in Seattle. I believe the DUP know more than they are letting on.”

The recording stuttered short there, Brent saying what I was thinking: “That’s it? That was his report? That was nothing,”

Dad’s eyes screwed shut like it was painful for him to think. “I remember Raymond saying something about…the DUP having a hand in the gene?” He asked like he wasn’t sure, opening his eyes to look between Aunt Sia and Zeke. “Did you guys ever learn what he was after?” 

Aunt Sia shook her head. “He died before he got anywhere.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “That’s nice,” he said, tone suggesting it wasn’t at all. 

Zeke ignored the jib, saying, “Raymond found me, long before we took this to Project Sanctuary. Came knocking on my door in the swamp and nearly found out what the business end of a twelve gauge felt like. Apparently when Wolfe, the doctor, was captured and the Militia bombed his lab, it triggered some sorta failsafe in his computer to email Raymond a goodbye letter. He showed me it.” After a moment, Zeke continued, “It admitted to everything he did. Shit Cole and I didn’t even know about. Some sorta final attempt at soothing his subconscious or something.

“He mentioned Cole in it, his one attempt at redemption. Everyone knows the heroes, not the sidekicks, so it took a while for him to find me. Three years, to be exact. The DUP had started putting people away in droves and he thought they had a hand in the fact that they were coming back to begin with. Asked me to help — tell him what I knew from back then with Wolfe and Cole.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “And?” 

Zeke sighed. “I told him to fuck off before I used him for chum in a gator trap.” 

Whatever Dad was expecting, it wasn’t that; he blinked hard twice before eventually asking, dumbfounded, “What?”

“I didn’t want anything to do with it at first.” Zeke admitted. “I was mourning and pissed at the world. My best friend did everything he could to fix what Kessler started and not only did it not matter, but they were making him into some sorta villain.” He looked at Delsin. “You know what that’s like.”

Dad just seemed to relent with a single nod. “By the time I agreed to work with him, he was sure he was onto something bigger,” Zeke continued. “It was a whole conspiracy. Curdun Cay was impossible to find, but apparently he had a group of hackers that managed to break through once. Barely got into a database for experiments before the FBI were at their door.”

I heard of the 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. 

Dad’s art. Dad. 

And apparently, Dad seemed just as familiar with those stories as he sighed. “That could’ve been anything,” he said solemnly. 

“It could’ve been,” Zeke agreed. “But you don’t think she had a reason for doing what she did?”

No one had a good retort to that. 

Dad’s eyes traveled thoughtfully from Zeke’s face to the bin Aunt Sia had brought out and he stepped forward, digging around in it for a minute and rejecting two different dead drop sleeves before finding what he was looking for. He pulled the little chip out of its folder and handed it to Aunt Sia, who put it into the player without question. 

“Report by Augustine.” Her voice was softer than anything I heard from her on Christmas eve—but it still sent a jolt down my spine so violent I jerked in my seat a bit, hair on the back of my neck standing on end. “While the inciting incident that supposedly claimed the lives of all the Conduits was in fact a lie, it was not one created by the DUP. Conduits did live through Cole’s Gift, myself included.”

I hated how tense her voice made me. I hated how I could hear waves roaring in my ears despite being in the middle of Hyde Park. I glanced over at Brent, who was trying his hardest to scowl a hole into the fridge’s door before looking down at the table, trying to shake the tension from my shoulders. Not that that helped; all it did was turn my attention to the cast on my arm — the cuts and scrapes still healing from the car crash and the monster chase — and it just made my stomach churn more. 

After a breath, Augustine continued, “Instead, we used the calm to build, learn, and prepare. We got better at early detection and collection. Curdun Cay’s facilities were upgraded and we built an army. The events here in Seattle will ensure the DUP will be funded for the foreseeable future.” 

A hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. My head snapped back and the sight of red hair made my heart stutter until I realized it was too red, with exposed black roots — not wild and gray streaked and more auburn than cherry. Aunt Sia looked down at me in concern as I tried to force my breathing to steady, hand moving from my shoulder to rub my back reassuringly.

“This will allow me to expand our facilities abroad.” Augustine confided in the recording in a hushed tone, like they were sharing secrets under a duvet at a sleepover. “We have made an excellent headway on establishing a permanent science facility in Australia. The work we’ve already done there using Dr. Sebastian Wolfe’s notes on the Conduit is…” She drew off, breathing deeply, “Well, awe inspiring, even to me.”

The recording cut short right there, and we were all left in silence for a considerable few seconds. 

“‘Wolfe’s notes on the Conduit,’” Dad eventually asked, looking up at Zeke. “What notes?” 

Zeke looked to Aunt Sia, who sighed. “He thought Augustine was trying to influence the gene to create herself a little army,” she began, “And that, since the DUP had information on the Ray Sphere and RFE, that she was planning this mass event that would have activated Conduits everywhere, make it impossible for the world to ignore Conduits.” 

Dad huffed. “She was locking up every gene positive person she could find,” he pointed out. “You believed that?”

“Yeah.” Aunt Sia responded, that firm finality in her voice that always lingered in its tone whenever she refused to hear otherwise. “I did. Because when I heard about what happened in there? I refuse to believe it was just for shits and giggles. Augustine was up to something, you can’t tell me she wasn’t.”

Dad didn’t seem convinced. “When I fought her, she said she was just…trying to keep them outta the hands of the government,” he started, brow screwed tight as he tried to access the memory from that time. “That the military was the reason they died in the beginning, and she was the only thing keeping them safe.”

Aunt Sia cocked an eyebrow at Dad. “You believed that?” she returned with the same doubtful tone he had earlier. 

Dad faltered as he considered her words, and Aunt Sia stepped forward, a hand going to Dr. Sims’ shoulder. I hadn’t noticed it till this very moment, but it seemed like Brent and I weren’t the only ones bothered by Augustine’s voice; Dr. Sims’ jaw was tense, the fingertips of his right hands sort of tapping against the keys like he wanted to distract himself with typing but couldn’t think of the words. “After everything Eugene told me, it’s—I can’t believe that she didn’t have some sort of ulterior motive.” Dad opened his mouth to retort and Aunt Sia continued without waiting, “Someone that cares about Conduits doesn’t torture them to see what they can do. They don’t experiment on them, and they sure as hell don’t train them to kill. Fetch wasn’t the only one she did that too.”

Dad’s shoulders immediately tensed when Aunt Sia mentioned Mom, looking off like the mere mention of what happened then made him want to slew a string of curse words. He took a moment to run his hand over his face before asking, “So, what? She was slowly building some sort of army?”

Aunt Sia sighed, shrugging. “I’m not sure. I can’t say I fully believed the idea, because I didn’t. I still don’t. But she was doing something in that little ivory castle of hers, I can promise you that. We just don’t know what.” 

Dr. Sims suddenly sat up in his chair, eyes scanning over the entirety of his screen as he said, “We may have just found out,” before looking over his shoulder at Dad. “I can access the hard drives now.”

Dad moved to Dr. Sims’ shoulder as Aunt Sia’s hand moved to grip the back of the chair I was sitting in, tense. “What d’ya got?” Zeke asked, leaned against a back wall. 

“A lot of…corrupted files…” Dr. Sims hummed, hands working overtime as he typed away. I couldn’t see what he was doing but Brent could, his eyes moving from scowling and angry to a bit wide as he watched Dr. Sims do his thing. “Maybe I’ll have more luck in the network file share…”

Dr. Sims continued his typing, brow furrowed as he dug in the computer’s data mine, looking for gold, the screen reflecting in his glasses; I couldn’t make out the words, but what I could see were the multiple popup windows and various loading bars, Dr. Sims looking like someone straight out of some cliché hacker scene. 

But white suddenly overtook his glasses as something bigger popped up on screen, lines of text spawning faster than he could read it. Dad leaned forward, lips moving ever so slightly as he silently read off of the screen. 

Zeke was the first to crack. “What did you find?” He asked. 

Dad and Dr. Sims shot each other a glance. “Notes from the First Sons,” Dr. Sims hummed, reading further. “About power transfer, forced Conduits, RFE exposure, and…evolution.” 

“Evolution?” Aunt Sia asked, “Like the gene evolving to survive the RFI?” 

Dad shook his head. “No—evolution to make a Conduit all powerful.”